


Finite Simple Group (Of Order Two)

by idoltina



Series: Meet Me On The Equinox [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Cheerio Kurt, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Nerd Blaine, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You learn what really matters. And what matters is the way you treat people. And passing your classes.</i> Popular Cheerio!Kurt is forced into getting a tutor, which just happens to be the school nerd, Blaine Anderson. Based on <a href="http://dont-stab-darren.tumblr.com/post/15115887465/popular-cheerio-kurt-is-forced-into-getting-a%20">this AU</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finite Simple Group (Of Order Two)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, discussion of homophobia and violence

Kurt glances at the clock high on the library wall and sighs. Fashionably late is ten minutes. He's been waiting for a good half hour at this point and he's pretty sure he's done waiting. Gathering his gym bag, he stands, smooths out the wrinkles in his uniform, and makes his way out to the hallway. One stop off in the bathroom, a cup of coffee at the Lima Bean, and tomorrow he tells Coach that his tutor bailed. He sighs and shakes his head as he pushes open the bathroom door because he hates that it's come to this, that he even needs a tutor to begin with. He hates that it's jeopardizing his position on the squad, and he hates that he's stuck with preening, know-it-all Blaine Anderson as his tutor. And that, _that_ is the cherry on top that Kurt really doesn't need (think of the empty calories); he already doesn't feel good enough.

He freezes once he pushes past the door, though, at the sight that greets him. _Here_ is the Blaine Anderson he's been waiting for the last half hour, bent over the sink, hands scrubbing against his face rigorously. "What are you doing here in here?" Kurt asks plainly. "I waited for you in the library for a half hour."

Blaine jumps at the voice, hand reaching out blindly for a paper towel to wipe off his face; his [glasses](http://www.lenscrafters.com/eyeglasses/14/oakley/6490130) make a clattering sound against the sink as he tries to grab them and put them back on. He turns around quickly, fingers gripping the edge of the sink. "I -- oh." Kurt glares at him impatiently, sniffing, and he catches a whiff of something in the air that smells faintly like sugar. "Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"Yes," Kurt sniffs, folding his arms across his chest. "I believe we had an appointment."

"No, I know," Blaine stammers. "I'm not -- I don't usually do this. I'm not usually late. I was just clean -- washing up."

Kurt arches an eyebrow. "For half an hour?" Blaine shifts uncomfortably, and Kurt's eyes fall to the sink behind him, stained an ugly lime green. Slushied. He shifts his gaze back to Blaine, takes in his plaid button-up and clean sweater, hair meticulously slicked back and still damp; it occurs to Kurt that Blaine's cleaned up and changed in the time Kurt's been waiting for him, which means he probably got slushied in between the end of practice (glee for Blaine, Cheerios for Kurt) and the start of their tutoring session. It's a legitimate excuse, not Blaine's fault, and Kurt will allow that but it doesn't make him any less uncomfortable or annoyed. He wonders, vaguely, if his brother was the one to slushie his tutor. "You couldn't have at least given me a heads up? Asked me to wait?"

"I -- I'm sorry," Blaine huffs out. "It's just -- I couldn't see. It took a while to find the bathroom. And you ended up waiting anyway, so can't we just go back to the library and --"

"We were only supposed to do this for an hour," Kurt reminds him. "Half of that is gone. I have other plans."

Blaine nods, eyes trained on the floor as he picks up his messenger bag. "Right," he says faintly. "Of course you do. We still have another thirty minutes, if we could just go back..."

Ordinarily, Kurt thinks Santana would describe his current motivations and course of action as taking pity on Blaine because the guy just looks incredibly guilty. And the thing is, it's not his fault, and Kurt knows that, but he also really, really doesn't want to be bothered with this, tutoring and 'Blanderson' and having to fight for his position on the squad all over again. But the fact remains that Kurt _does_ have to fight for his position on the squad; he doesn't have a choice. He can't keep failing math, and if he can't pass on his own, he needs a tutor. Which means... "Do you have a car?"

Blaine blinks up at him, pushing his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose. "Um, no. I'm fifteen --"

Kurt waves a hand dismissively. "Doesn't mean anything. I had a car last year. Come on. I'll drive."

Blaine's shoes squeak against the tile of the bathroom floor as he stumbles after Kurt. "Where are we going?"

"Lima Bean," Kurt answers briskly. "I am in desperate need of coffee." He stops and spins around and Blaine runs into him, flush against Kurt's chest, hands gripping firmly at the sleeves of Kurt's uniform. Kurt huffs impatiently, pushing Blaine back and righting him. "Look, this does not become a _thing_ , okay? I don't want to waste any more time on this than I have to. "

Blaine's eyes wrinkle, and his shoulders are suddenly much more broad as he stands up a little straighter. "I'm... giving up my free time to help you, Kurt --"

"And yet it's on my dime, isn't it?" Kurt snaps airily. "This cuts into my practice time. Coach is already all over me for my grades and the longer you and I have to do this, the harder she's going to come down on me. So let's get this done, shall we?"

He turns to push open the double doors out to the parking lot but Blaine grabs his elbow before he can get very far and he turns Kurt back to face him, eyes glinting with anger. "You want it to be on your dime? Fine. You're buying. Medium drip."

Kurt's jaw drops open a little as Blaine brushes by him, but he can't fight the smile that spreads on his face.

This should be interesting. Infuriating, but interesting.

*****

"You're _what_?" Santana asks sharply, slamming his locker door shut.

"Failing," Kurt sighs, sinking onto the bench and unearthing a bottle of moisturizer from his duffle bag. "Coach said I have to have a tutor to help keep my grades up."

"Or what?" Mercedes asks. "You can't stay on the squad?" Kurt taps his finger to his nose. "That's so unfair!"

"It's just math," Kurt says reasonably. "It's never been my strong suit but with a tutor, maybe --"

"A tutor," Santana says flatly, moving to stand in front of him. "A tutor from Miss Pillsbury's program, which means certified nerd. Who'd you land with?"

"Blaine Anderson? That kid with the glasses who's in the glee club --"

" _No_ ," Santana says firmly. "You cannot- no."

"I don't really have a choice, Santana," he sighs. "I can't do this without him. He's actually a good tutor, but --"

"But nothing, Hummel. You hang out with Anderson, your stock plummets."

"You think I don't know that?" Kurt asks sharply, zipping up his bag. "I don't want to do this in the first place, much less with him. He's kind of a jerk. If he weren't smart enough --"

"No, you're not listening," Santana says, sinking down on her knees in front of him. "I get that you have to do this tutoring thing. Fine. Don't do it here, and don't do it where anyone can see you. If you're seen with Anderson, it means a lot more for you than it would for one of us."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "What --"

"You think the uniform you wear is just for looks?" she asks. "That uniform protects you. You think half the guys on the football team would be decent to you if you weren't on the squad? People fall down at your feet now, Hummel, because you've got the power. Anderson is one of those people. Don't let him bring you down."

"You mean _you've_ got the power," Kurt drawls. "Don't think I didn't notice you making bids to land as co-captain this year."

"Yeah, and I would've been captain if Fabray hadn't ratted me out to Coach about my summer surgery --"

"Call it whatever you want," Kurt says dryly. "You got a boob job."

Santana's eyes narrow at him for a moment before she pushes herself to her feet. "Yep, sure did." She smiles a little, all teeth and no warmth and Kurt actually shrinks back a little. "Let me put it to you this way. Coach calls you Porcelain, right?"

Kurt blinks at her. "What does that have to do with --"

"Get chummy with Anderson, and I'll make sure you break."

Kurt arches his eyebrows at her. "Are you _threatening_ me?"

Santana leans down and kisses his cheek. "I'm looking out for you," she purrs into his ear. "That's how we do it in Lima Heights."

Kurt watches her hook pinkies with Brittany and sashay out of the locker room; he's not planning on giving her words a second thought (because why would he when Blaine had been so awful to him), but the look on Mercedes' face makes him shift uncomfortably on the bench. "You're not taking her seriously, are you?"

Mercedes bites her lip, hooking her gym bag over her shoulder. "She has a point."

"I can't believe you're agreeing with her," Kurt seethes. "There isn’t even anything to worry about, and if what happened with Quinn last year is any indication --"

"Think about it, Kurt," Mercedes implores. "Quinn wouldn't be here if she didn't have leverage against Santana. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't found that video of Coach --"

"A comedic tour de force," Kurt says with a grin.

"Okay, but the point is that we've got power," Mercedes explains.

"Yeah," Kurt says slowly, "because we _blackmail_ people."

"It doesn't matter," Mercedes sighs impatiently. "It doesn't matter how we do it. The point is that we protect each other, Kurt. You protected me. And now Santana's trying to protect you."

"Santana's trying to maintain the caste system," Kurt snaps bluntly.

"And it's there for a reason. You're trying to blur the lines."

"I'm being tutored," Kurt defends. "I don't have a choice."

"Just... think about what we've said, okay? Don't let him get to your head. Don't let him change you, Kurt, or try to get you to change things."

Kurt shakes his head. "I don't think you have to worry, Mercedes," he sighs, rising from the bench and hooking his arm through her elbow. "He wants to see me as much as I want to see him."

*****

Blaine Anderson is not attractive.

Okay, Kurt takes that back. Objectively, he's not sore on the eyes. He's... petite, and he's got good bone structure, and he obviously moisturizes. But it's obvious to Kurt, just a few sessions in, that Blaine's got an extensive collection of embarrassing bow ties. Kurt's never seen him without a gallon of product in his hair and he just _hides_ behind those glasses, looking down on Kurt like he's an idiot. And Kurt's not an idiot -- he's not. He's smart. He gets really, really good grades and has done just fine up until now. It's just stupid, stupid math.

"You're distracted," Blaine murmurs next to him, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table in the library.

Kurt huffs out in annoyance; he's fairly certain Blaine's tapping out a melody Kurt knows but he can't place it. "Not all of us are as _gifted_ as you are, Anderson," he snaps. "This is actually kind of hard."

Blaine sighs and drops the pencil, scooting his chair close enough to Kurt's so that their legs brush against each other. Kurt glares at him. "Where are you getting stuck?" Blaine asks patiently, skimming the set of problems in the book in front of them.

Kurt sighs. "Everywhere. The beginning. I just -- I think about everything that I have to do to solve this problem and there's so much to memorize and I just --" He groans and pushes himself away from the table.

"Well there's your problem," Blaine says reasonably. "You're trying to tackle too much at once. Math doesn't work that way. You can't get the big picture if you don't understand all of the pieces that make it up. Focus on one thing at a time. Take it step by step. Here, try this one, and follow the example earlier in the chapter, but try not to get overwhelmed. Take it slow."

Kurt flexes his fingers and leans back towards the table, determined. He wants to prove he can do this, both to Blaine and to himself; if he can't do this, he loses his spot on the squad and that's just... not an option. Not when he's worked so hard to get here. He begrudgingly follows Blaine's instructions and tries not to let himself get lost in the pile of numbers. And somehow, it works; each solution boxes itself away and lends itself to the next part of the problem, and when he pushes his notebook over to Blaine to have the answer checked, Blaine's face splits into a smile. "See?" he says brightly. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "You don't have to speak to me like I'm a child, you know. I don't care how smart you are, _Blaine_ , arrogance isn't really that attractive."

Blaine arches his eyebrows and scoots away, picking up his pencil and turning his attention back to his own book. "I shouldn't be surprised that's what your focus is. You _are_ a Cheerio."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning you're just like the rest of them," Blaine mumbles. "You. Santana. Quinn."

"And we're all what? Superficial? Really? That's the best you've got?"

"Superficial, shallow, hung up on looks, content with using people as a means to an end- I mean, that's all I am to you, right?" Blaine says coldly. He turns a little too quickly to face Kurt again, face burning, and has to push his glasses back up his nose.

"What is your _problem_?" Kurt snaps. "I've done what you've asked. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Blaine challenges. "I have to force you to focus. It's clear you'd much rather be with them."

"Well, obviously," Kurt scoffs. "They're my friends. It's why I'm here, so I can stay on the squad."

Blaine pushes the book closer to him. "Do another."

Kurt pushes it back. "Now who's being distracting?"

Blaine considers him a moment. "Stay on the squad," he parrots, taking the bait, and Kurt smirks, satisfied. "At any cost? What was Quinn's? What'd she have to do to get back on the squad after last year?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "What's Quinn Fabray to you? She's not the one you're tutoring."

"Nothing," Blaine says flatly. "She's nothing to me. You two must be pretty close, though, if she lived with you when --"

"Is that why you agreed to tutor me? So you could get information on the rest of the squad? Sounds pretty shallow of _you_ , Anderson."

Blaine's jaw goes rigid; he snaps his book shut with a loud _thwack_ , pushing his chair back and shoving the book in his messenger bag. "You don't know anything about me," he seethes. "I think you've made enough progress today. I'll let you know when I have another afternoon free."

*****

"Miss Pillsbury?"

Miss Pillsbury holds up a gloved index finger and finishes cleaning the blotter on her desk, pulling the wet wipe away with one final _squeak_. Smiling, she tosses the cloth in the trash can next to her desk and peels off the gloves, disposing of them and applying hand sanitizer on her hands before meeting Kurt's gaze. "Kurt," she says brightly, waving him over. "Come in, sit down."

"Coach Sylvester said you were the one I needed to talk to about my tutoring sessions," Kurt says, setting his gym bag on the floor and perching himself in the chair opposite hers.

"Yes," Miss Pillsbury says hesitantly, tilting her head to the side a little. "I'm sorry you need them, Kurt. You're very bright."

"Math's never been my strong suit," Kurt admits through gritted teeth. "I want to keep my grades up, but I also --"

"You also want to stay on the Cheerios," Emma says knowingly. She sighs and straightens a row of pencils laid out on her desk. "How are your sessions going? Are they helping?"

"Well, yes," Kurt says slowly, trying to figure out how best to phrase his problem. "It's just -- I was wondering... Is there any way I can get a different tutor?"

Emma's smile falters but she doesn't frown, instead choosing to sit up a little straighter. "Is there a problem with the one you have now? You just said the sessions were helping."

"And they are," Kurt assures her, flushing a little. "It's just -- we're not all that... compatible."

Emma surveys him for a moment, eyes big and searching and it makes Kurt feel like _he's_ the deer in the headlights. "How so?"

"It's --" Kurt stops, huffing in frustration. He can't just outright tell Miss Pillsbury why he doesn't want Blaine as his tutor any more, but he has to come up with something if he wants to come out of this with his reputation in tact. "We spend half of the sessions arguing, Miss Pillsbury. I just think- if you could assign me to someone _else_ \--"

But Miss Pillsbury shakes her head and Kurt's stomach bottoms out. "No, I don't think so, Kurt," she says slowly. "You said yourself that he's helping you with the material. If that weren't the case, I might consider it."

"But Miss Pillsbury," he rushes out, "wouldn't it be better to have someone I got along with? Wouldn't I get more done? Wouldn't I learn more?"

She smiles at him a little. "I think he's pushing you enough, Kurt," she says cryptically, and Kurt settles against the back of the chair in annoyance. "You might learn more from him than you think."

*****

Kurt reaches a hand out into the hallway and grabs hold of the elbow of the person walking by, tugging him into the library and dragging him past aisles and shelves towards the back, where the light is dim and dust is thicker. "What are you doing?!" Blaine hisses, stumbling along behind Kurt.

Kurt ignores him and forces Blaine into one of the corners, glancing around to make sure no one's followed them. "Okay, look," he starts without preamble, turning back to Blaine, "we need to talk about what happened today."

Blaine adjusts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder. "What, that I tried to _talk to you_?"

"In the hallway," Kurt points out. "In front of my friends. You can't just _do_ that."

Blaine stares blankly at him. "I'm tutoring you."

"Yes, and that's humiliating enough," Kurt snaps icily. "If I spend any more time with you than I have to, if they see me with you, my entire reputation is at stake. Do you know what they'll do to me? Santana's already on edge --"

"You're worried about the lynch mob turning on you?" Blaine asks incredulously. "I thought colors didn't run, or whatever."

"Status is like currency," Kurt explains. "When your bank account is full, you can get away with doing just about anything."

"And your bank account isn't full?" Blaine asks dryly.

"It's in serious jeopardy of plummeting straight to empty. I'm going to have declare bankruptcy, and it's because you're a toxic asset.”

Blaine narrows his eyes. "Excuse me? I was under the impression that I was _helping you_."

"And you can continue to do that," Kurt says, sighing with relief. "Just not in public."

Blaine's mouth twists unpleasantly. "Why do you care so much?" he asks scathingly. "Why does it even matter?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand --"

"No, I wouldn't, would I?" Blaine interjects coldly. "Quiet, unsuspecting, overly flamboyant, nerdy Blanderson wouldn't know a thing what it's like to be a selfish, scheming sheep."

Kurt sets his jaw firmly. "No, you wouldn't. You're a pretentious, people-pleasing prick. You think I don't see how _pleased_ you get when the teachers compliment you, how _proud_ you look when you ace yet _another_ exam? I don't get why _you_ care so much how well you do, _Blanderson_ , or where you get off asking me why I care about the things I do."

Blaine squares his shoulders and suddenly he looks a lot taller than he actually is. "You seem to know a lot," he says in a clipped tone. "Maybe you can put that to good use." He brushes by Kurt on the way out of the library, chin held high; Kurt shivers as Blaine's arm brushes against his own.

It's as Blaine's leaving that Kurt realizes that behind the glasses, Blaine's eyes are hazel.

*****

Kurt drops his duffle bag on the nearest fold-up metal chair with a loud _thump_ , causing his dad to look up from under the hood of the car he's working on. "Bad day?"

"You have no idea," Kurt groans, reaching for his pair of coveralls and tugging them on. "The universe hates me."

His dad gestures him over. "Nothing can't be fixed while you're working under the hood of a car. Come help me out and we'll see what we can do."

Kurt leans on the side of the car, passing a wrench over to him. "It's the stupid tutor Coach hired for me. He --"

"Whoa, hit the brakes, reverse," his dad cuts in. "Since when do you need a tutor?"

Kurt bites his lip and takes the wrench back from his father. "Since I started failing math?"

His dad sighs. "Okay, and your coach got you a tutor because you have to have a certain average to participate in sports and stuff, right?"

"Right, which is fine because I want to stay on the squad, but this guy she got is just..."

His dad frowns. "Is he not helping you?"

"Well, no, that's not it," Kurt huffs out. "He's smart, and he _has_ been helping me, but --"

"But what? What's the problem?" his dad prompts.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt sighs. "He's the worst possible person for the job. The more time I spend with him, the more everyone thinks something's going on between us, and my reputation's hanging by a _thread_ as it is --"

"Hang on, hang on," his dad cuts in. "What's wrong with this kid?"

Kurt stares at him blankly. "He's in _glee club_ , Dad."

"What's wrong with that?" his dad asks with a frown. "That singing and dancing stuff, you used to like that, didn't you?"

"Which is why I'm on the Cheerios," Kurt explains slowly. "Anyone with real talent defects to the Cheerios. Joining the glee club is like social suicide."

His dad wipes his hands on a nearby rag, surveying his son carefully. "So you don't want to hang around this kid because he's not popular?"

"Finally, he gets it," Kurt sighs. "He's like, the opposite of popular, Dad. And he just doesn't get why I need to keep the tutoring thing under wraps." He reaches out for another set of tools to help his father but Burt bats his hand away. "I thought I was helping."

"No, I'm helping you, remember?" his dad snaps. Kurt arches his eyebrows, surprised. "I gotta tell ya, I'm real disappointed in you, kid. I thought you were better than this."

Kurt shakes his head. "Dad --"

"This kid, he gets picked on?"

"Well, of course he does, but --"

"You tell me, Kurt, where you'd be if you hadn't made the Cheerios," his father suggests. "Wouldn't you have joined the glee club?"

"I -- I don't know," Kurt admits. "But it doesn't matter --"

"It _does_ matter," his dad insists. "People think you and this kid -- what's his name? Blaine? -- might be an item or something? And people already pick on him because he's in glee club? How much worse do you think he's got it, Kurt, if he's like you, huh? If he's gay? Sometimes I think you forget how lucky you are." Kurt just stares at him, heat flooding his face. "You've got me and you've got the Cheerios. Who do you think this kid's got?"

"He doesn't _care_ , Dad," Kurt says. "He doesn't care about being popular, he doesn't care about having friends, or what people think of him."

His father snorts in derision. "I don't believe that for a second. You're telling me some fifteen-year-old kid doesn't want someone to care about him?" Kurt shifts uncomfortably, folding his arms over his chest. "He went out of his way to help you and _this_ is how you treat him?" Kurt's face grows hot under the judgment but he stands his ground, jaw set. "What happened to my kid? What happened to the guy who asked me to take in one of his friends --"

"Don't," Kurt says sharply, fighting off the sting he feels at _what happened to my kid_. "Do not bring Quinn into this."

"I don't get it," his dad says, and Kurt's just plain _annoyed_ now. "Why does she deserve you being nice to her and this kid doesn't?"

"Quinn was _homeless_ , Dad," Kurt reminds him. "She had no one else to turn to."

"And this kid does?"

Kurt's jaw twitches. "Glee club, obviously."

"And how many of them are there?" his father pries. "How many of them would help him out if he asked? How are they supposed to help him out if they get picked on too? Quinn was lucky the rest of the squad welcomed her back --"

"Can we just _stop_ with Quinn? The last year didn't happen, in her mind."

His dad arches an eyebrow, shaking his head in disdain. "The squad let her. Your coach let her. The school let her. _You_ let her. Why does she get a second chance and this Blaine kid doesn't?"

Kurt closes his eyes and tries not to snap entirely, his entire body vibrating with energy. He remembers the way Quinn's gaze had lingered on him when he'd told the squad he was gay; he remembers the way she'd curled into him on the bathroom floor and the way her tears had stained his uniform, pretty and pristine, when Finn and Puck had left her out to dry. He remembers her making him breakfast in the morning when she'd lived with them, and how it was _his_ hands she'd grabbed when she'd first felt the baby kick.

Now, all of that is gone, gone with Beth and tied up in Quinn's ponytail, hidden beneath the trim lines of her uniform and under the folds of her skirt. There's a part of him that misses that side of her, aches for the intimacy of having a real _friend_ and not just someone who accepts him while he's coloring inside the lines and winning Nationals trophies.

Okay, so maybe Kurt was wrong. He sighs and nudges his duffle bag to the ground, sinking onto the chair. "So what am I supposed to do, Dad?"

His dad reaches a hand out to ruffle Kurt's hair, but Kurt holds a finger up to keep him at bay, and his dad settles for resting a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You man up," he says. "You apologize. You learn that you're not always right. You learn what really matters. And what matters is the way you treat people. And passing your classes."

Kurt groans and buries his face in his hands. "I hate math."

His dad chuckles. "You take after your old man there. Luckily, you've got a tutor."

Kurt bites his lip. "Maybe."

*****

The petite Filipino woman who answers the door throws him off first. "Um, hi," Kurt starts nervously, tugging at his uniform uncomfortably. "Is -- is Blaine home?"

The woman smiles brightly at him. "Are you a friend from school? Or his choir?"

"Um, no," Kurt answers with a shake of his head as she lets him cross the threshold. "He's -- it's -- I'm on the Cheerios, he's uh, he's tutoring me, in math." _Or he was_.

"Oh, the Hummel boy!" she guesses, shaking his hand. "I'm Blaine's mother. He's just upstairs, I think. I didn't know you were studying here today."

"We weren't planning on it," Kurt admits. "I just -- I wanted to talk to him about some things." _To apologize for being a dick, really._

Mrs. Anderson just smiles at him and gestures up the stairs. "Second door on the right." Kurt climbs the stairs but ends up pausing in the doorway, staring blankly at the empty bedroom. There's a soft chuckle behind him and he glances over his shoulder to find Mrs. Anderson offering him an encouraging smile. "Out the window, dear." Kurt blinks at her, confused, but crosses the room to the window and pokes his head outside to glance around.

"I'm not going to jump," Blaine says dully, and it's then that Kurt notices him, lying flat on his back on the rooftop, eyes trained on the sky above them. "Mom shouldn't be worried."

"I don't think she is," Kurt says, clambering out of the window and crossing the rooftop tentatively to lie down next to Blaine.

They're both quiet for a long time, pink fading from the sky and stars starting to glitter above them, breath coming out in spirals of smoke. Kurt waits, is patient because he needs to be -- this is his fault and he owes this to Blaine -- but the longer they sit in silence, the darker it gets, the colder it gets. Kurt's starting to wish he'd brought his letterman's jacket when Blaine finally speaks. "She's not worried because I come out here all of the time, you know."

Kurt's running at the mouth before he can even really think enough to stop himself. "Why, is the glee club reenacting _Step in Time_? Coach was right, you _are_ a young Burt Reynolds --"

"Dick Van Dyke," Blaine corrects. " _Mary Poppins_ was Dick Van Dyke, not Burt Reynolds. And if you came here to mock me some more, Hummel, you can leave," Blaine snaps bitterly. "I get enough of it in school."

Kurt shifts uncomfortably against the shingles. "I owe you an apology," he says quietly, refusing to actually look over at Blaine.

There's a pause, and then, "I'm waiting."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, you're actually going to make me say it, aren't you?" he huffs out. " _I'm sorry_. I'm sorry I ignored you, I'm sorry I made fun of you, I'm sorry I've made this difficult when you're trying to help me. I'm _sorry_ , okay?" He shivers involuntarily, hoping this is enough to get Blaine to come inside and open the books.

Blaine turns his head to look at Kurt before snorting out a laugh. "Here," he offers, tugging a blanket out from under him and handing it to Kurt.

Kurt accepts it and wraps himself up in it, pushing himself up off of his back and rising into a sitting position, tugging his knees to his chest. "How are you not freezing?"

Blaine shrugs. "I've felt worse." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Look, if this is going to work, we have to be professional about this. I tutor you in math and that's it. We don't talk about our personal lives, you don't make fun of me, I don't judge you, nothing. You don't have to talk to me at school, we don't have to try and like each other. Deal?"

Kurt hesitates, debating. There's a part of him, the part that's normally dominant and proud in the fine lines and polyester of his uniform, the rigidity with which he carries himself that wants to rush to accept, to shake Blaine's hand and say ‘deal’ in return. But there's another part, the part beneath the red and white, the drive and ambition and the blood in his veins that belongs to his father and the involuntary tug he feels in his gut that's pulling him towards Blaine.

Kurt follows Blaine's gaze back to the stars. "You said you come out here all of the time," he remembers. "Why?"

"You don't have to do this," Blaine says quietly. "You don't have to try and get to know me. You don't have to pretend to like me and be interested in the things I like."

Kurt ignores him, for the most part. "The dippers are easy enough to find," he remarks. "But I was awful at astronomy, too. I could never identify any of the other constellations."

There's a long pause as Kurt waits to see if Blaine takes the bait, if he'll push or pull. When Blaine finally does make a decision, it's not the one Kurt expects. "After I came out, it was like my dad didn't know what to do with me," Blaine says in a rush. Kurt blinks over at him, surprised. "And then there was this dance..." Blaine tapers off, eyes still fixed firmly on the sky, but Kurt's eyes fall to where Blaine's fingers are moving now, idly tracing a jagged scar that runs down his arm. Kurt's never noticed it before. "After that, he did everything he could think of to try and make me straight." He stops, breathes in, out, and keeps going. "You called me a pretentious people-pleasing prick. You're not that different." Kurt inhales sharply but Blaine doesn't stop. "I throw myself into my work because it's going to get me the hell out of here."

"I -- I'm sorry --" Kurt tries again.

"Don't," Blaine bites out harshly as he sits up, finally turning to look at Kurt again. "I'm not treating you like some charity case, so don't treat me like one. You have it so _easy_. No one cares that you're gay because you're on the Cheerios. You're just --" He sighs, reaching up beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Can we just do what we were meant to do? I tutor you so you get to stay on the Cheerios?"

There’s a sharp pull in Kurt's gut but Kurt can't take his eyes off of Blaine's scar, so he yanks back and falls in line, nods his assent. "If that's what you want."

Blaine just _stares_ at him for a few minutes, intent and contemplative, before finally sighing. "I don't get you," he murmurs. "First you want nothing to do with me and do everything you can to push me away, and now you're acting like, like..."

"Like what?" Kurt prompts quietly, curling the edges of the blanket closer.

"I don't know," Blaine huffs out, clearly frustrated. "Like you want to get to know me? It's just -- you're not what I expected you to be. I didn't expect it to be this fucking _complicated_." Kurt's eyes widen as Blaine's brow furrows. " _What_?" Blaine asks, exasperated.

Kurt's jaw falls open to try and answer a little but he just ends up gaping at Blaine for a moment. "I never thought I'd hear the word ‘fuck’ come out of your mouth."

Blaine blinks at him, obviously trying to figure out whether he's supposed to take Kurt's statement as a compliment or an insult, but in the end, Blaine's shoulders fall and then tension seems to melt out of him as he deflates. Shaking his head, he scoots closer to Kurt so that their legs are touching. They both look to the sky again, Blaine's arm extending, his finger tracing shapes in the air against the glittering backdrop. "Aquarius," he begins, his voice evening out the more he talks. "And up to the left, Pegasus."

*****

Kurt stifles a yawn as the bell rings and the rest of the class starts to file out of the room; he slides his books back into his messenger bag and is about to push himself out of his chair when he notices someone standing in his way. He blinks up at Quinn. "Yes, captain?" he teases, smirking.

Quinn breathes, slow and steady, and looks away from him for a moment, watching as the last of their classmates leave. Kurt recognizes the action as a nervous habit, Quinn's way of trying to regain control, to buy time, to avoid the issue at hand. Once they're alone, she turns back to him, determined, and sets her hands on her hips. "We need to talk about Blaine Anderson."

Kurt sits up a little, straightening. "Why?" he asks sharply.

"He's tutoring you."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Kurt drawls dryly. "Look, can we just not do this? I've already gotten enough shit from Santana and Mercedes about it. I don't have a choice. If I don't pass, I don't get to stay on the squad."

Quinn's leg bounces a little, another nervous tick, and Kurt wonders what's bothering her. "How well do you know him?" she asks slowly.

Kurt narrows his eyes. "Why?" he asks again.

Quinn sucks in a breath, loud this time, and Kurt can see her start to unravel. She glances back at the doorway to the astronomy classroom and spins on her heel, ponytail whipping with force as she strides quickly over to the door and shuts it quietly. She takes her time in turning back around, though, and Kurt can see her start to soften, sees it in her face and her shoulders. "You don't -- Santana, Mercedes -- all of them," she emphasizes. "The squad and the team and the whole school, they write him off because he's unpopular. They worry what it's going to do to your reputation."

Kurt exhales loudly through his nose. "Isn't it _my_ reputation to worry about?"

Quinn blinks at him, and Kurt sees, for the first time in a long time, traces of surprise on her face. "That's not what I -- Kurt, I don't want you to listen to them."

Kurt's jaw drops open, just a little, before he blinks and shakes his head, regaining his composure. "What is with you? This isn't like you."

"That's not fair," Quinn says softly. "You know me. You probably know me better than anyone else here."

"Do I?" Kurt asks airily, arching his eyebrows. "You've spent the last few months pretending the last year didn't happen."

"That doesn't make me any less your friend," she snaps, but Kurt doesn't relent and she sighs, sinking into the chair in front of him. "Look, thinking about last year, about --" She stops and swallows and Kurt knows she's never going to say it, the he'll never hear the name _Beth_ fall from her lips. "It hurts too much. I have a second chance here. I'm trying not to waste it."

And that gets to Kurt the most because it makes him think of his dad, of giving Blaine a second chance, and Kurt realizes that he's never really given Quinn that, not really. And how selfish is that of him when Blaine has given Kurt more than his fair share of second chances? "I'm getting to know him a little," he says flatly. "Why do you _care_ , Quinn? Do you even know anything about him?"

She laughs, actually _laughs_ at him, and rests her chin in her hand. "More than you, probably. We went to middle school together."

"You _what_?" Kurt asks, leaning forward.

"Look, don't read too much into it," she dismisses, leaning back. "Just know that he's not as bad as people make him out to be. He deserves someone who will be nice to him."

Kurt has so many questions, all of which he knows will go unanswered because it's Quinn, who keeps her secrets under lock and key and guarded by moats and fire-breathing dragons. In the end, he opts for, "He needs to _let_ someone be nice to him. He wasn't exactly the nicest person for a while."

Quinn smiles a little. "Guess he's got more of a backbone than people think."

"You have no idea," Kurt groans.

*****

Kurt taps his pencil against the pages of his textbook in a melodic rhythm, gaze drifting over to the bottom shelf of Blaine's bookshelf. He chances a glance over at Blaine, who's sitting cross-legged on his mattress with his nose buried in _Things Fall Apart_ , glasses barely visible over the top of the book. Kurt smiles a little and turns his attention back to the bookshelf, scooting across the carpet on his stomach to read the titles. His fingers dance across the spines as he skims over the collection, but it's not until the end of the shelf that Kurt finds anything that peaks his interest. He reaches for it, fingers tracing the gold emboldened letters on the side, _Belleville Middle School_ , and tugs the book free; he props it open on top of his math book, turning the pages quietly so he doesn't attract Blaine's attention. He finds Blaine's picture towards the center, small and in black and white, name printed in small text along the side column. Kurt almost doesn't recognize him at first, even with his glasses on, because apparently a seventh-grade Blaine didn't put product in his hair. "Oh my god," Kurt laughs.

Blaine looks up from his book, startled. "What?"

"You have curly hair," Kurt bites out, trying hard not to keep laughing. He looks up at Blaine from his position on the floor and tilts his head to the side. "I just -- I can't picture it, looking at you now, but here it is, in black and white --"

Blaine pales. "No," he groans. "Put that away."

"No," Kurt says, laughing again and sticking his tongue out. "It's cute."

Blaine flushes a deep red and shakes his head, sticking out his hand. "Can I have that back?"

Kurt shakes his head and turns his attention back to the yearbook, flipping through the pages. "Are there more?" he asks with a grin. "What did you do in middle school? Were you in the band? Everyone was in band in middle school. It was like, the cool thing to do back then."

Blaine tucks a bookmark into the pages of Chinua Achebe's work and slides off his bed and onto the floor to join Kurt. "No," he says, rolling his eyes. "But I did take piano lessons."

"Of course you did," Kurt sighs, flipping through the pages of the eighth grade section. "Leading man of glee club."

Blaine snorts with laughter. "There's four of us. I'm not sure I can really be a leading man, especially when I'm only one of two guys in there."

Kurt shrugs and turns another page, barely glancing at the page, but does a double take when he scans the column of names. "Oh my god."

"What?" Blaine asks, leaning over Kurt's shoulder to peer at the page. "Did you find the one where I was dropping my science experiment off of the roof of the cafeteria?"

"That's Quinn," Kurt breathes, fingers lightly touching the glossy photograph. "That's Quinn Fabray. She wasn't lying."

"Lying?" Blaine echos, and Kurt actually looks over at him because Blaine's voice is _shaking_. Blaine colors again and clears his throat. "Um, lying about what?"

"About going to middle school with you," Kurt says, sitting up. He can't _believe_ this is Quinn. She looks so _different_ , brown hair and chubby and glasses and it's obvious that she's had a nose job- "Oh my _god_. I cannot believe this is her."

"You'd be surprised how much people can change," Blaine says bitterly, and it's his tone that makes Kurt look over at him again, surprised.

"Did you know her?"

Blaine's eyes flick down to the page for the briefest of seconds and Kurt swears he's never seen Blaine look like that, never seen Blaine's eyes flash that way. "I knew _her_ ," Blaine owns after a moment, nodding at the picture.

Kurt looks back down at the page and reads her name again, noticing her first name instead of just her last this time. "Lucy."

"Lucy," Blaine echos faintly, and the marks of anger in Blaine's eyes change into ache.

Kurt twists a little to face Blaine better, book shifting in his lap as he does so; something falls from the back cover and Kurt's hand reaches it before Blaine can stop him. It's a photograph of Blaine (and god, he looks so _young_ ), arms thrown around Quinn's -- _Lucy's_ neck, clinging to her like she's his lifeline. They're both smiling, and Kurt's stomach bottoms out. "You were friends." He can feel Blaine's arm against his, trembling. "What happened?"

Blaine's gaze lingers on the photograph for a moment longer before he tucks it back into the back of the yearbook, snapping it shut and shoving it back on the bookshelf. He pushes himself to his feet and flops unceremoniously onto his bed again, slouching and propping his book up on his chest. "She left," he answers tersely.

Kurt's eyes wrinkle in confusion. "She went to high school," he says slowly. "You're a year apart, she --"

"She left," Blaine repeats, and Kurt tucks his shoulders in. It's been a while since Blaine's actually been upset with him, rage and anger and bitterness seeping through the kindness. "Luce left. She left when I needed her the most."

Part of Kurt aches for Blaine; he knows there's a lot Blaine hasn't told him, knows that Blaine doesn't really trust him all that much. Kurt can't reconcile the two images and identities, the version of Quinn -- Lucy that Blaine knew, and the Quinn that Kurt knows now. Even the Quinn Kurt knows now isn't the Quinn he first met. "She's different now, you know," Kurt reasons, settling down at the edge of Blaine's mattress lightly. Blaine pokes at Kurt's leg with his foot, trying to shove him off, but Kurt doesn't budge. "Last year -- it really changed her."

"It doesn't show," Blaine snaps, closing the book and tossing it onto his nightstand.

Kurt considers him a moment. "Sometimes I don't get you." Blaine merely raises his eyebrows. "You just -- you're such a people-pleaser -- don't look at me like that, it's true -- but even you are quick to judge people. I can't wrap my head around it." Blaine's mouth drops open a little, his muscles relaxing. He looks like he wants to say something but he clamps his mouth shut after several tries and stays silent. After a while, Kurt says, "I'm sorry for prying."

Blaine surveys him, obviously thinking, before sighing and shaking his head. "Give me your practice exam," he says, holding out his hand. "I need to figure out where you're struggling."

*****

 _The front door closes behind Kurt with a click, and Kurt sags against it in exhaustion. He wants to put the terror of today's practice behind him and soak in a bath, and possibly drown in it. Sighing, he tromps down the stairs to the basement, his gym bag_ clunking _down each step behind him. He freezes on the lower landing, though, dropping the handle of the bag and staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. Quinn's twirling in the center of the floor (and Kurt loves the pink blouse she's wearing), eyes closed as music carries from the iHome on Kurt's dresser. She looks the happiest Kurt's seen her in a while, baby bump just barely showing, but what catches Kurt off guard the most is that she's singing._

 _Kurt's never heard Quinn sing before. He and Mercedes are usually the ones coveting solos in any of the vocal numbers the Cheerios perform. He knows Santana can sing, from what Mercedes has told him, but Quinn's never expressed any interest in this aspect of performing, has never given any inclination that she has talent, and_ god _, does she have talent. She doesn't have Kurt's range, or Mercedes' power, but there's something quaint and comforting about her mezzo-soprano, delicate and warm and inviting. Kurt leans against the banister and smiles as the chorus comes around again (and the song isn't one he recognizes -- he thinks it's Faith Hill but Kurt's not a big fan of country, so he wouldn't bet his collection of tiaras on that). "_ If my heart had wings, I would fly to you and lie beside you as you dream, if my heart had wings. _" Her twirls start to slow as the chorus repeats one last time and she opens her eyes to refocus herself; Kurt sees her catch his gaze in the reflection of the mirror and stop singing, whirling on the spot to face him. "I didn't hear you come in," she says, flushing and breathing hard._

_Kurt shrugs. "I never knew you could sing."_

_She smiles a little and rolls her eyes, turning the music off and shoving him playfully on the shoulder. "I never thought it was important. You and Mercedes have that covered." Her smile falters a little at the thought and she turns away from him, sinking down on the bed. "How was practice?" she asks faintly._

_"Ugh, awful," Kurt groans, sinking down next to her. "One of the girls buckled and sent one of the smaller pyramids down; Coach made us do extra laps for being sloppy."_

_"Yeah, sounds awful," Quinn echos, still not meeting his eyes._

_Kurt glances over at her, shoulders drawing up uncomfortably. "You're good, though," he offers. "I'd say you should join glee club, but." He laughs, trying to break the tension._

_She doesn't take it as a joke and shakes her head vehemently. "I -- I still want -- I want to come back," she says. Her voice shakes like she's about to cry which isn't unusual given her mood swings, but it's still something Kurt's having trouble getting used to. The girl that lives with him and shares his room, the one sitting on his bed, fingers curled over the edge of the mattress, this girl doesn't reconcile with the girl he's known for the last year and a half, confident and assertive, chin held high and tone venomous and cold. "I want to rejoin the squad next year. I just -- I just have to wait this out."_

_Kurt squints at her, eyebrows furrowing. "It's a baby, Quinn, not the flu."_

_Quinn squeezes her eyes shut and climbs up on the bed, resting her back against the wall. "I know that, okay?" she snaps. "It's -- I don't want to keep her. I just -- I want my life to be normal again. I have a plan to convince Coach to let me come back --"_

_"Quinn, Quinn," he cuts in, grabbing her shoulders and turning her towards him. "That's then. That's not now. You still have to deal with this."_

_"Why?" she shouts at him, and she's crying now, manic and upset and wild, eyes betraying her hurt. "All I ever wanted was to get_ out _of here, Kurt. If I keep this baby, I'm stuck here. I can't do that, I_ won't _! It's -- god, do you know why I lied? Do you know why I told Finn he was the father?"_

_Kurt releases her shoulders and sits back a little, surprised. "You -- you didn't want him to find out you'd cheated," Kurt stammers._

_"No," Quinn counters. "That was part of it, but look at me. Look at where I am now, Kurt. I'm here, with you and your dad. This baby's father isn't taking care of me, of us. And you wanna know why? Because Puck's a Lima loser. He's never going anywhere. He's going to stay here and sleep with everyone's mom between here and Columbus while he cleans their pools; either that or he's going to end up in jail, and I am not putting myself in that position, Kurt. I'm not going to end up some young mom stuck waitressing at Breadstix because I have a kid to support and no one else to help me." She settles back against the wall, jaw set. "I have to get out of here," she says firmly. "And the only way I'm going to do that is to let somebody else raise this baby so I can get back into that," she says, nodding towards the uniform Kurt's wearing._

_Kurt waits, he waits because he knows she needs a few minutes to come down from the rush of adrenaline and hormones and ache flooding her system right now; he reaches out a hand when her breathing starts to even out, resting it on her shoulders. She melts against him almost instantly and curls into his lap, resting her head across his thighs and gripping his knee with her hand. He freezes for a moment, unsure how to deal with the proximity, but eventually he lets his hand fall gently onto her head, fingers stroking through her pretty blonde hair, dark at the roots. "You're still the prettiest girl I've ever met, you know that?" he says softly. He feels her smile against his leg. "But you're also a lot more than that. You'll make it, Quinn."_

_She's quiet for a moment before reaching for his hand and tugging it down to rest over her growing stomach. "Promise?" she whispers._

_"Promise."_

*****

Kurt's forehead meets the glossy page with a loud _smack_. "Math was invented by Satan."

"I thought you didn't believe in God," Blaine says next to him.

"I don't."

"But then --"

"Stop," Kurt groans. "My brain does not want to argue over this with you."

Blaine sighs. "Do you want a break?" he offers kindly. Kurt grunts noncommittally into the pages. "It might help," Blaine reasons.

Kurt lifts his head a little and glares at the blur of black on white before him. "I don't want to give up."

"You're not giving up," Blaine promises. "You're just taking a break. Clearing your head."

Kurt frowns at the book. "What if I can't get this? What if I fail? What if --"

"What if you don't take a break and you push yourself until your head explodes? I mean, I wouldn't put it past Coach Sylvester to make 'headless cheerleader' work somehow, but --"

"Oh my god, shut _up_ ," Kurt groans, tossing one of the sofa cushions at Blaine's face as Blaine starts to laugh at him. Kurt plants his face into his book again, nose dipping into the center, and Blaine's laughter tapers off.

There's barely a moment's pause before Blaine's hand -- warm and firm -- tugs at his wrist. Kurt practically jumps off of the sofa when Blaine speaks again; he's close, far, far too close, lips right next to Kurt's ear and god, why does Kurt even care? "Come with me," Blaine requests softly. "Please."

Unnerved, Kurt lets Blaine lead him up the stairs to the bedroom, out onto the balcony and the rooftop. It's different in the daytime, Kurt notes. At night, there's no one to see (no one to see _them_ ); in the sun, Kurt realizes that the Anderson rooftop affords a rather expansive view of the neighborhood. Blaine sinks down immediately, and Kurt follows without thinking. "Do you know why I come up here all the time?" Blaine asks, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin over them. Kurt shakes his head. "Because I feel safe. I feel like -- like I'm not even _here_ , you know? Up here, it's not Lima. No one can see me up here. No one can --" He stops, drawing his knees closer to his chest. "No one can touch me up here."

Kurt's eyes fall to Blaine's fingers where they're tracing the scar on his arm again. "You really want to get out of here, don't you?" he whispers.

"So much," Blaine breathes back. "I still have another year after you're gone, you know."

Kurt blinks at him. "I keep forgetting that you're a _sophomore_ ," he sighs. "You're in _calculus_."

The corner of Blaine's mouth turns upwards. "Like I said, I really want to get out of here."

"What will you do?" Blaine shakes his head, confused. "What will you do, after you graduate?" Kurt clarifies. "What's the plan?"

Blaine shrugs. "College. East coast, probably. Harvard or Yale or something, if my dad gets his way."

Kurt's eyes narrow. "And if you get your way?"

Blaine inhales sharply and for a second, Kurt doesn't think he's going to answer. "Music."

Kurt arches an eyebrow. "So you really _like_ being in glee club, then."

Blaine rolls his eyes and stretches out. "You know, you can knock glee club all you want, but you're a performer too, Kurt. I've seen the musical numbers you do at pep rallies, the songs you and Mercedes sing. You're involved in sports _and_ the arts, how is that even _fair_?"

Kurt shrugs. "I'm flexible."

Blaine's mouth cracks into a grin. "Ah, the answer to the universe isn't forty-two after all."

Kurt laughs, loves the way it feels, bubbling up in his chest; Blaine laughs, too, and smiles wider. "I told you math was a waste of time!"

Blaine shakes his head but he's still laughing. "What about you, then?" he prompts. "What are you doing when you graduate? Planning on taking over for Coach Sylvester? Ooh, is there a diabolical plot to poison her or something?" he teases. "Doesn't she only drink like, protein shakes or something?"

"The Sue Sylvester Master Cleanse," Kurt recites dutifully. "I tried that and I'm fairly sure it gave me an ulcer or something. I'll stick with more practical methods, thank you," he says dryly. "But you couldn't pay me enough to do what she does."

"What then?" Blaine asks again. "Before you were on the Cheerios, what did you want to do?"

Kurt looks out over the neighborhood, adopting Blaine's previous position, tight and close and isolated, wrapped up in himself. "I don't know," he shrugs. "Perform, I guess."

"Music," Blaine muses. Kurt smiles faintly. "And what will Santana say when you run off to California or New York and abandon her for the stage?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Doesn't matter. She'll be here and I'll be there." He pauses, turning to look at Blaine again. "That's... sort of your point, isn't it? None of this stuff matters because you're leaving." Blaine shifts uncomfortably, breaking eye contact, and Kurt reaches over to recapture his attention, gently resting his hand on Blaine's. "No, hey, I didn't mean it like that," he insists. Blaine turns to look back at him and he's biting his lip, obviously still uncomfortable. "It's... admirable." Blaine arches his eyebrows, and Kurt huffs. "I think I might have misjudged you, a little."

Blaine's fingers twitch under his own but he doesn't pull away, not yet. "Why did you come over, that night? Why did you apologize?"

Kurt blushes. "My dad," he admits guiltily. "He was... really disappointed in me when he found out how I'd treated you." Blaine gapes at him a little, eyes widening. "Look, I really am grateful," Kurt says, trying to change the subject a little. "Cheerios or not, I need to pass if I'm going to get anywhere. So thank you."

Blaine's quiet for a minute, his lips pursed tight, before he slowly shifts his hand under Kurt's, turning it so that their palms are touching. "You're not anything like I thought you'd be," Blaine admits quietly. "You're not- you're not like the rest of them."

"Of course not," Kurt quips. "I'm better." Blaine laughs a little, at that, but goes quiet immediately when Kurt's hand drifts from Blaine's hand to his arm, fingertips ghosting over the path of the scar. "How exactly did you --" he starts.

Blaine sucks in a breath quickly and pulls away, shaking his head firmly. "We should -- math. We should get back to the books."

*****

Kurt's on his way to practice, the hallways empty and quiet save for the distant murmur of a few voices. They grow quiet as he makes his way further down the hall, and he's just past an unfamiliar room when he hears piano chords start to play, and after a few seconds, someone starts to sing.

Kurt stops to listen.

One quick glance in the room is enough for Kurt to recognize the back of Blaine's head and the annoyingly perky Berry girl; he leans against the outside wall covertly and hugs his books to his chest, straining his ears to listen because _Blaine is singing_. It's not a song Kurt recognizes immediately, though if he were given the artist or album he might be able to place it. It's pretty, he'll grant, slow and melodic and just shy of melodramatic. He focuses less on the words and more on how _good_ Blaine sounds, voice strong and clear and yet still tender, vibrato filling the lulls and holding Kurt's ear. It's one particular set of lyrics that jump out at him, causing him to hug his books closer, his stomach twisting. " _I can't continue pretending to choose these opposite sides on which we fall, the loving you laters if at all._ "

"We're better." Kurt whips around quickly, blanching as Santana and Quinn approach him. "We're better," Santana says again. "I don't care how talented the losers are. We're better and it's why people like us, why we go places, why we won Nationals and why we're going to win again. But we can't do that if you don't come to practice with us."

Kurt bites his lip and casts a nervous glance at Quinn. "I just -- I was going to ask Blaine something, about our tutoring sessions," he lies.

"Ask Blanderson later," Santana sighs, tugging on his elbow. "I have a new number I wanna try that I think you'll like."

"Do you?" Quinn sniffs, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, I do," Santana snaps. "Brit suggested it. You up for some Spice Girls, Hummel?"

Kurt smiles in spite of himself. "Lead the way, captains."

Santana marches down the hallway without another word, Kurt and Quinn trailing behind her. Kurt slows after a minute, glancing back over his shoulder at the choir room briefly before facing forward again, following Santana with a sigh. Quinn elbow him gently as Blaine's voice carries down the hallway -- _you and me, always between the lines_ \-- and she smiles at him. "Wanna take another look?" Kurt looks at the back of Santana's head, the lights reflecting off of something shining and metallic in her hair. "I can handle her," Quinn says dismissively. "We're still co-captains, after all. She doesn't have as much power as she'd like."

Kurt smiles back but shakes his head. "I'll see him later. Besides, leaving you and Santana alone for too long might result in World War III. She's still pissed that you told Coach about her summer surgery, you know."

Quinn grins at him. "Survival of the fittest, remember?" she reminds him. "I just have some new tricks up my sleeve." She glances over her shoulder, just once, and offers Kurt an encouraging smile. "Take another look."

*****

Kurt tilts his head to the side, surveying Blaine carefully. "Have you ever considered contacts?"

Blaine looks up from the textbook, blinking in surprise. "Um, I have them," he says awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't really like to wear them, though."

"Give them another shot," Kurt encourages. "I bet it'd open up your face more."

Blaine snorts and looks back down at the book on his lap. "Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not actually looking for that kind of attention."

"Oh, come on," Kurt laughs, tugging at Blaine's hand and rising from the couch. "Let me stand you in front of a mirror so you can see what I'm talking about."

Blaine sighs and tosses his pencil onto the book, letting it roll into the crease between the pages. "Fine," he concedes begrudgingly. "And then math?" he prompts, gesturing to the book as it slides off of his lap.

"And then math," Kurt agrees, tugging Blaine to the guest bathroom downstairs. He flicks the light switch on and pulls Blaine in front of the sink, hands reaching for Blaine's glasses.

"My, um, my contacts are in the upstairs bathroom," Blaine explains as Kurt gently pulls the glasses from his face.

"I'll grab them," Kurt assures him as he sets Blaine's glasses on the counter top. He anchors a hand on either side of Blaine's face, smiling at the affirmation that Blaine's face _does_ look more open this way, open and honest and trusting and fuck, those eyes --

Kurt takes another look.

"Kurt?" Blaine prompts. "I, um, I kind of can't see here. Can you maybe --" His words are cut off as Kurt uses his hands to tilt Blaine's head up a little before pressing their lips together. Their noses bump against each other a little and it's awkward and Kurt's never kissed anyone before; but Blaine allows the kiss for a few seconds before breaking it, tilting his head down to sever the connection between them, breathing hard. Kurt blinks at him, tries to register what he's just done, keeps his hands weighted on Blaine's cheeks. It takes him a minute to realize that Blaine is shaking, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly, searching for a face he can't see. Jarred, Kurt reaches for Blaine's glasses and gently settles them back onto Blaine's face. "What-" Blaine stops and swallows but doesn't look away. "Why did you do that?"

Kurt shakes his head. "I- I don't know."

And then he's kissing Blaine again and what the hell is _wrong_ with him --

Blaine's hands reach out and grab hold of Kurt's hips, fingers slipping on the material of his uniform, and Kurt wishes more than ever that he weren't wearing it because it's that, the stupid uniform and social structure and people forcing his hand that are keeping him from this, keeping him from Blaine. He wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and pushes forward, forcing them against the wall of the bathroom and pressing himself flush against Blaine. "Fuck," Blaine gasps, breaking the kiss a second time. Kurt blinks down at him, the word still sounding so foreign coming out of Blaine's mouth, and he realizes that Blaine's eyes are squeezed shut behind his glasses. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

Kurt bites down on his lip hard, trying his best not to laugh but he can't help it; he starts shaking with laughter against Blaine's chest and Blaine opens his eyes in response to the sounds and vibrations. Kurt's smile turns into a full grin as he barks out another laugh. Blaine blinks at him and Kurt notices Blaine's body finally starting to calm. Blaine breaks out into a smile and laughs with him, and this time it's Blaine who initiates the kiss, wrapping his hand around and anchoring a fist tightly in Kurt's hair.

Kurt can't find it in him to care.

*****

They're halfway through _Deadliest Catch_ and Kurt honestly could not care less what they're watching. He's fairly certain his face is still pink; it's still warm, he can feel that, at least, and he can't seem to stop _smiling_. "Good day?" his dad asks casually from his armchair.

Kurt hums in agreement. "Practice ended early, so I got a little extra tutoring in."

His dad cocks an eyebrow at him. "Warming up to that Blaine kid?"

Kurt can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "How much is it going to take for you _not_ to say 'I told you so'?"

"Depends," his father muses with a grin. "Do you actually get along with the kid or do you just tolerate him?"

Kurt's positive that his face is bright pink now. "Define 'get along.'"

"I dunno, you enjoy spending time with him?" he suggests, taking a swig of beer.

Kurt unfolds his legs and recrosses them, inspecting his nails in a bored fashion. "I don't know, did you and Carole enjoy making out in the kitchen the other night after dinner?"

His dad chokes as he tries to swallow; he opens his mouth to offer a retort but then snaps it shut again once he realizes what Kurt's implying. "This kid's kissing you when he's supposed to be tutoring you?"

Kurt actually laughs, he can't help it. "Well, if we're being technical, I kissed him first."

His dad just blinks at him. "So what now?"

Kurt looks over at him, eyebrows arched. "What do you mean?"

"You kiss this guy, it means something, doesn't it?" his dad asks, and Kurt can tell he's a little uncomfortable but he's still talking and Kurt softens a little -- _sometimes I think you forget how lucky you are_. "I thought you were worried about what all of your friends on the squad thought."

Kurt's brow furrows. "I might not even still be on the squad if he weren't helping me," Kurt argues. "That's not fair."

His father throws his hands up defensively. "Your words, not mine, kiddo. I guess you've changed your mind?"

Kurt glances down at the letters on his chest, the bold _WMHS_ glaring at him; he _does_ still care, he'll admit that. He likes being on the Cheerios, he's made friends there, the football team doesn't pick on him. But Blaine... Kurt closes his eyes and pictures the color of Blaine's irises, thinks about the way Blaine smiles when Kurt does something right, hears Blaine's laugh echoing in his head, feels the press of Blaine's lips against his own. A rush of adrenaline floods his system when he thinks about performing, kicking and twirling and tumbling, being able to use his voice and not have people hate him for it; and then he thinks about Blaine again, the extra pair of clothes he keeps in his locker and the cardigans he's lost to slushies, the way he's not afraid to use his voice (god, that _voice_ ) and the second chance he gave Kurt with the patterns he traced in the sky. Kurt opens his eyes and finds his dad watching him, a small smile on his face.

Kurt returns the smile faintly. "Yeah," he says softly. "I guess I have."

*****

"Morning!"

Blaine turns abruptly at the sound of Kurt's voice as he tucks the last of his books into his locker. Kurt beams at him, a cup of coffee clutched in each hand. Blaine glances around the hallway before turning his attention back to his locker. "Aren't you afraid people are going to see you talking to me?" he mumbles.

Kurt feels the smile on his face falter a little before he tries again. "I brought you coffee."

Blaine slams his locker shut with a little more force than necessary before he turns and leans against it. "What do you want?" he sighs tiredly.

Kurt's smile fades further but he takes a step closer, determined. "I'm trying to be nice," he says, his voice low. "Isn't that the general practice when you're dating someone?"

Blaine snorts at him. "So that's what we're doing, now? You kiss me and suddenly I'm your boyfriend and you're going to make everyone like me?"

Kurt steels himself because he gets it, he gets why Blaine's worried and he knows Blaine, now, knows that Blaine puts up more walls than anyone would guess. "You kissed me back," Kurt reminds him, and Blaine flushes pink. "Look, don't I get any credit, here? I've obviously stopped caring what other people think enough to be public about this. I mean, I know I don't exactly have a great track record but can't you just _trust me_?"

Blaine's mouth twists nervously, his lashes brushing against the lenses of his glasses and Kurt realizes that he's shaking again when Blaine reaches out a hand to accept one of the cups of coffee. He takes a sip and blinks down at the cup in surprise before taking another. "You know my coffee order."

Kurt grins at him. "Of course I do. I'd be a pretty bad boyfriend if I didn't." Blaine looks up at him through long, thick lashes, the hallway lights bouncing off of his glasses and god, those _eyes_ \--

Blaine lifts the cup to his lips again, hesitating before taking another sip. "So fucking complicated," he mumbles. Kurt laughs at him and nods in the direction of the hallway. Blaine shifts his weight nervously and glances at the students passing by. "You're not going to hold my hand, are you?" he asks quietly. "This is still _Ohio_ , Kurt, I don't care how popular you are --"

"Oh my god, stop being such a snob," Kurt sighs, rolling his eyes affectionately. Blaine bites his lip but returns the smile and pushes away from the lockers to walk down the hall with Kurt, their elbows barely brushing. "What do you have first period?"

"Um, Spanish," Blaine says, shifting his coffee from one hand to the other. Kurt can practically feel the energy wafting off of him, excited but _nervous_. And Kurt just wants to reach out and touch, to take Blaine’s hand (it’s just _there_ , swinging between them) and have it be okay, but it’s not. Kurt kind of hates himself for it because he's contributed to this, to an environment that keeps them at arm’s length, just out of reach. All he feels now is isolated, even with Blaine at his arm, skin electrifying against his own even though they’re barely touching. Kurt knows he has the power to change this, the status and influence to make a difference and make this _okay_. He just doesn't know how. He glances sideways and finds Blaine looking back, smile tentative and eyes warm. Kurt remembers what Blaine looks like without glasses, remembers what he did, and flushes; he looks away and bites back a smile.

He feels Blaine stop next to him, sees the Spanish classroom in his peripheral vision, but the world grows muted and fuzzy and dark as he watches an arm covered in his own colors, red and white, extend towards him (Azimio’s, Finn informs him later) and _splash!_ , it hits him right in the face. It's cold and murky and purple, clumped together and sticky, clinging to his skin and sliding down his uniform and dry cleaning is the _last_ thing on his mind because he just got _slushied_ \--

There's a loud, rather obnoxious sigh to his left, and Kurt vaguely recognizes the voice of the Spanish teacher. "Do you guys need help, Blaine?"

Blaine murmurs a quiet _no_ next to him and grasps Kurt's elbow firmly, his hand tight and warm against Kurt's freezing flesh. He allows Blaine to tug him into the nearest bathroom and settle him down on an overturned garbage can, leaning him over the sink. The world starts to come into focus as Blaine cleans him off, the lights brighter and everything suddenly much, _much_ colder. "I have a change of clothes in my locker," Blaine offers quietly. "They might be a little small, and they're not your style, but you should probably try and get some of this out of your uniform before you send it out for dry cleaning."

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Blaine sighs and leans back a little. "I told you," he sighs. "I told you it wouldn't work this way. Let's just -- look, your next make-up exam is take home, right? Just give it to me and I'll do it. That way you can pass and stay on the Cheerios and we can put all of this behind us."

Kurt sits up a little. "I don't know whether to be insulted or amused." Blaine arches an eyebrow at him. "Either you have little faith in my ability to pass this exam or in your own ability to be a good tutor."

Blaine shrugs. "Do what you want, okay? I'm just trying to make things easier on you."

"Things stopped being easy when I had to pass math to stay on the Cheerios," Kurt says. "I didn't make it easy."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Blaine says dismissively. "Just pass the exam and things will go back to the way they were before."

"And what if I don't want things to be the way they were before?" Kurt challenges.

Blaine's eyes soften but he still shakes his head, determined. "That's the dumbest decision you could make."

"I disagree," Kurt throws back. "I think it's the smartest decision I've made yet."

"Why?" Blaine asks softly. "Why are you doing this? Don't you see how much harder it's going to be for you? You just got _slushied_ , Kurt. Once is usually enough to send anyone running in the other direction."

"And yet you and the rest of your glee club face them every week, every _day_. My friends are the ones who do it, my _brother's_ done it. And I let it happen."

"And what, you're not going to let it happen anymore?" Blaine asks. Kurt nods, just once, and Blaine actually starts to shake with laughter. "You're so fucking _complicated_. I just don't get you."

Kurt shrugs. "I don't get me either, anymore."

Blaine smiles a little at him. "Why?" he asks again.

Kurt grins and fists a hand in Blaine's collar, tugging him forward. "Because," he murmurs, tilting his head and leaning up to meet Blaine, "I really like doing this." Blaine grins into the kiss, the dye on Kurt's uniform staining his hand.

"I heard you got sl -- _oh_."

Blaine pulls away _lightning-fast_ , gasping slightly and stumbling backwards into one of the bathroom stalls, face white. Kurt can barely keep up, only managing to look towards the doorway at the sound of the voice. "Quinn," he huffs out. "What are you doing in here?"

Quinn doesn't look at him at all, just keeps her gaze fixed on Blaine, who can't seem to tear his eyes away from her either. Kurt looks between them, waiting for one of them to speak; finally, Quinn tries again. "I heard you got slushied," she says calmly, addressing Kurt but still looking at Blaine. "I came to help."

"I'm okay," Kurt assures her, even though he's fairly certain she's only half listening to him. "Blaine helped me clean up. He knows what he's doing." Blaine draws himself up at that and it's the first time in a long time that Kurt's seen him actively _try_ to come across as superior.

"So do I," Quinn reminds him. "I've been through this too, last year?"

Kurt watches out of the corner of his eye as Blaine grips the side of the stall tightly, fighting to control his temper. "I thought we didn't talk about this," Kurt sighs, trying to diffuse the situation.

"We didn't," Quinn agrees. "Things change." She looks pointedly at Blaine. "People change." Blaine finally looks away, training his gaze firmly on the tile of the bathroom floor. Quinn sighs, turning to face Kurt. "Get changed," she advises. "I'll text you the number of the dry cleaner I used. The dye is murder to get out of the uniform."

*****

Kurt can't remember how, exactly, they ended up like this, sprawled out on Blaine's bed in varying states of undress and practically mauling each other, but he also doesn't really care because oh my god, it feels so _good_. He doesn't want to tear his lips away from Blaine's but there's so much to explore now that he's got Blaine's shirt unbuttoned, bow tie hanging askew around his neck. Kurt kisses down the side of his neck, grip firm enough in Blaine's hair that some of the product is finally starting to give way and Blaine arches beneath him, hands flexing against Kurt's waist before wrapping up and around his back, holding him closer. And _damn_ , if that doesn't feel good, Blaine's hands on the smooth expanse of his back, skin on skin, bare and exposed. Kurt wonders vaguely, as his hand slides the fabric of Blaine's shirt aside to feel more skin, what the state of Blaine's glasses is; Kurt's not quite sure where they ended up, exactly. Possibly on the nightstand. Or the floor. Or under Kurt's uniform shirt, after Blaine had peeled it off. Or under Blaine's ass. That'd be unfortunate.

Kurt pulls back a little, ignoring Blaine's whine of protest. "Hey, no, come back."

Kurt stares down at Blaine's abdomen. "So this is what you've been hiding underneath those cardigans."

Blaine blinks rapidly at him, his mind obviously still focused on Kurt's lips on his neck. "What?"

"You're so _fit_ ," Kurt breathes, running his palms over Blaine's stomach. Blaine sucks in a breath and groans. "No one would ever guess."

"Thanks?" Blaine quips dryly, arching an eyebrow at him. "As much as I appreciate the compliment, I was kind of into what we were doing before. More specifically what you were doing. With your lips." Kurt laughs but obliges, leaning back down and sucking at the dip between Blaine's neck and collarbone. "Yes," Blaine gasps. "That."

"You're such a bad influence," Kurt teases. "You're supposed to be tutoring me." Blaine drags his fingers down Kurt's back, what little of his nails there is scratching and stinging at Kurt's skin pleasantly. Kurt drops the subject entirely and kisses back up, lips lingering at Blaine's ear. "No, seriously," he murmurs, sucking on Blaine's earlobe a little, earning him a choked groan. "You aren't involved in sports at school. Do you work out?"

Blaine shifts uncomfortably beneath him and stretches his neck, trying to get Kurt to kiss there again. "A little, yeah," he admits distractedly, his hands settling at Kurt's waist again. "Boxing."

"Boxing?" Kurt chuckles against him. "Why'd you take up boxing?"

"Not -- _fuck_ , not important," Blaine huffs out, wrapping a hand around the back of Kurt's neck and pulling Kurt into a kiss. "Can we please stop talking?" Kurt is only too happy to oblige, because honestly, who _cares_ when he's got this boy stretched out underneath him making those _sounds_? Kurt dips his hands further under the edges of Blaine's shirt for more to touch, more to feel; he lets his hand wander, exploring, and reaches down to run the pad of his thumb over Blaine's hip. Blaine mumbles something unintelligible against his lips but Kurt ignores him because hey, it was Blaine's idea to stop talking in the first place. His hand stretches further down, wanting to grip Blaine's waist the way Blaine's doing to him now --

" _Don't_ ," Blaine gasps, wrapping his fingers around Kurt's wrist and _yanking_ his hand away.

Kurt pulls back a little, breathless and confused. "Don't _what_?" Blaine opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out; he shifts his hips away from Kurt instead. Kurt arches an eyebrow at him because _oh_ , there's something new, thinking about Blaine sexually. "I wasn't going to," he says slowly. He reaches out for Blaine's hip again, trying to show Blaine exactly what he was trying to do, but Blaine _pushes_ him away with force, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. "Blaine, I'm not trying to get into your pants," he huffs out, and Kurt actually has to try not to laugh because this is _ridiculous_.

But Blaine's eyes are wide and he looks panicked now. "That's not --" he starts, shaking his head. He stops, breathes in and closes his eyes. "Maybe we should stop for the night," he suggests quietly.

Kurt sits up and back on his legs. "You want me to leave?" Blaine opens his eyes and blinks, once, twice, three and four times in rapid succession and then he's grabbing for his glasses on the nightstand (and oh, that's where they went), hand shaking as he pushes them back on his face. And Kurt just takes a second to really look at him, the way his hair is starting to curl where Kurt's been tugging on it; the way his chest heaves and Kurt kind of can't stop staring because Blaine's starting to grow a little hair there; the way he kind of can't shut his mouth because he's breathing so hard and oh, his neck is bright pink where Kurt's lips have been and Kurt just wants to _kiss him_ again but Blaine is still just staring at him, quiet. "You want me to leave?" Kurt asks again, his voice strained as he fights not to just throw himself at Blaine again. He reaches out a hand, desperate just to touch again because he's never been allowed this before, the opportunity to kiss and touch and _be_. "But I thought you wanted --"

Blaine's fingers tighten around his knees as he draws up further into himself. "It's not that," Blaine says, his voice much more measured and even now as he articulates the full thought this time. "Kurt, it's not _you_ \-- well, it is, but it's not -- fuck." He stops to breathe, in and out and Kurt can see Blaine start to lose the control he's gained back. "It's too much," he says finally. And that irritates Kurt, because he's already argued that point, that this isn't (or wasn't) about sex. He's about to snap back when Blaine speaks again. "I can't handle you being that close."

And Kurt deflates because he gets that, finally, that Blaine isn't talking about what they were doing, but rather what they were saying, or maybe what they weren't. He remembers Blaine's hands on his back, his waist, tugging him closer, Blaine's mouth against his skin, begging, pleading, _please stop talking_. The problem is that Kurt can't remember what he said, what either of them could have said that made Blaine uncomfortable. "Blaine, I can't fix this if you don't tell me what I did wrong."

Blaine shakes his head again and Kurt's stomach twists in frustration. He makes the mistake of sighing, or he realizes it's a mistake after Blaine pushes himself up off of the mattress and starts to pace the floor, fingers running through his hair where Kurt's tugged it loose. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way." Kurt opens his mouth to ask for answers but once Blaine's started talking he can't seem to stop and he just starts _rambling_. "I was just supposed to tutor you. You'd pass and stay on the Cheerios and I'd have something to add to my college applications and that was supposed to be it. This wasn't supposed to happen." Before Kurt can even ask _what_ specifically Blaine's referring to, what specifically wasn't supposed to happen (though Kurt can hazard a guess at this point), Blaine's giving him more answers, spinning on his heel and letting all of the tension melt from his shoulders. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."

Kurt _gapes_ at him. "What?" he breathes.

But Blaine's shaking his head again, wrapping his arms around his abdomen and retreating backwards across the room until he hits the edge of his dresser. "Please go," he pleads. "Please, just... _please_." Kurt swings a leg off of the bed and pushes himself to his feet, taking a step forward -- "Don't," Blaine gasps again. "Please, please don't. Just --" His hand fists into Kurt's uniform shirt on the dresser (so that's where it ended up) before tossing it over to Kurt, who barely catches it. "Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

Kurt's halfway down the stairs and still tugging his shirt back on when his heart breaks.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

*****

"Still on the outs with Blaine?" his father asks when Kurt sinks down into the office chair after school the next day. Kurt groans and crumples his letterman's jacket into a horribly misshapen pillow and props it up on the arm of the chair before curling up with it. "Did you think about what I said last night?" Kurt nods. "And?"

"And I didn't talk to him all day," Kurt sighs. "I let him know I cared about him and that I wanted to fix this but I gave him space. He didn't even text."

"No tutoring either?"

"We didn't have another session scheduled until Thursday," Kurt sighs. "But that hasn't mattered all that much before now. We always just got together when we felt like it, when we had time."

"Not always studying, though, were you?" his father points out, and if Kurt felt the least bit like laughing he would because his dad is teasing him about his boyfriend. And that hurts too much to even think about because _boyfriend_ and _Blaine_ and fuck, why does Kurt care so much? "I'll tell you what, kiddo, once I finish up here, I'll close up shop and we can order a pizza and rent a movie. Your choice."

"Fine," Kurt sighs bitterly. "And you're not allowed to complain about my choices."

His dad holds his hands up defensively, still teasing, but rests a hand on Kurt's shoulder when he realizes his attempts aren't really working. Kurt doesn't shrug him off, and he shuts the office door behind him with a quiet _click_ on his way out to the garage. Kurt closes his eyes and punches his jacket into a slightly more comfortable lump, shifting in the chair awkwardly. He's just about settled in when he hears it.

"Excuse me."

He sits upright in the chair, his jacket unfolding into his lap. He knows that voice.

"What can I help you with, kid?" Kurt's dad asks, and oh my god, why isn't there a window in the office? His dad is out there meeting his boyfriend and Kurt can't _move_.

"I was looking for Mr. Hummel," Blaine answers politely.

"You found him," Kurt's dad laughs, and Kurt buries his face in his jacket because _that's not what Blaine meant, Dad_.

Blaine's voice is quiet, obviously caught off guard as he stutters out a quiet _oh_ before he says much else. "I was wondering, Mr. Hummel, if your son was here with you today."

And Kurt doesn't need to see his dad to know that his dad's wary now, shoulders broad and arms folded across his chest, and it's all going so, so wrong, because his dad is supposed to _like_ Blaine. "Depends on who's looking for him."

"Blaine Anderson," he offers, and Kurt can hear the slightest tremor in his voice and when did he even get so in tune to Blaine, to be able to pick up on the details and differences? Wasn't that his problem yesterday, that they weren't on the same page? "I've been tutoring your son --"

Burt actually laughs out loud and Kurt has to bite the shoulder of his jacket to muffle his groan of frustration. "Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," his dad chuckles. "I was wondering when I'd meet you." Kurt takes a risk and moves towards the doorway, opening the door just a crack and attempting to survey the scene with one eye. He glimpses half of his dad's arm but all of Blaine. "I'm glad you stopped by, actually. Been wanting to thank you."

Blaine colors a little and shrugs, burying his hands in his pockets. "It's nothing," Blaine dismisses. "I was happy to do it, Miss Pillsbury thinks I'd be a good teacher --"

"I wasn't talking about the tutoring," Kurt's dad says slowly. Kurt's brow wrinkles in confusion, and he watches as Blaine does the opposite, eyebrows shooting up and opening his face up, framed only by the glasses. "Although I guess I owe you thanks for that, too."

"I -- I'm sorry, sir," Blaine stammers. "I'm not sure I understand."

There's a long pause, long enough to make Kurt pry the door open a little further and try and get a glimpse of his dad's face. His father's face just manages to come into view before he responds. "You took a chance on him," his father clarifies. "The kid I've seen the last couple of months -- that's the kid I raised. I have you to thank for that. You taught him what it means to really be a man."

Kurt's hand grips the doorknob tightly in an effort to stay standing but Blaine's reaction is much more controlled, calm and unassuming. "With all due respect, Mr. Hummel, I didn't. You taught him that. I think I just... reminded him."

His father looks pleased but Kurt doesn't even care right now because _this_ is Blaine, even beneath all of the layers, under the cardigans and bow ties, behind the glasses and beyond the walls he's built, this is _his_ Blaine. His Blaine blushes and fumbles over his words and talks too much, wants Kurt to kiss him and hold him closer and not get too close, doesn't give up on Kurt and makes Kurt want to be _better_. This is the Blaine he's come to know and care about.

This is the Blaine who loves him.

"Come to take me up on that coffee?"

Blaine sucks in a breath and stands a little straighter, and Kurt knows it's because his dad is watching them, but it's okay. It's okay because Blaine is here. It's okay because Kurt's dad is teaching Kurt the lessons he needs to learn, how to apologize and communicate and _be a man_. And Blaine is _here_ and Kurt wants to _be_ that man for him, so, so much. He wants to deserve the kindness Blaine has given him so freely. He wants to give Blaine a real reason to love him. Kurt wants to be brave.

Blaine shakes his head. "Caffeine and I are not a good mix right now," he admits shakily, eyes darting back and forth between Kurt and his father. He finally settles his gaze on Kurt, in the end, his face warm and his voice quiet when he speaks again. "Wanna take a walk?"

Kurt nods, folding his jacket of his arm and turning to his father. His dad smiles faintly at him. "I'll take a rain check on that pizza."

"Deal," Kurt agrees, standing on tip toe to wrap an arm around his father's neck. "Thank you," he breathes quietly into his dad's shoulder. His dad hums and releases him, nodding in Blaine's direction before sauntering, albeit slowly, back in the direction of the cars. Kurt turns to Blaine. "Lead the way."

They walk for a while, Kurt's not sure how long, a few blocks down and over and up a hill Kurt's not familiar with. It's only when they reach the top and have passed a set of gates that Kurt realizes where they're going. There's a small sidewalk dotted with benches parallel to the front driveway and Kurt follows Blaine's lead as he sinks down onto one of them. They can see the beginnings of the fields here, the baseball diamond and the soccer field. Blaine hasn't spoken a word since the garage, and Kurt knows he has to be the one to break the ice. "You went to school here." Blaine nods, the response almost automated, and Kurt realizes almost too late that he's not supposed to be listening to Blaine so much as he's supposed to be _watching_. There's a sudden blast of sound from the soccer field, some horrendous pop/hip-hop mash-up that not even Santana would touch, followed by the echos of a dozen or so girls giggling as they take formation. They're much younger, for one, most of them can't be older than twelve, and their uniforms are different, blue and yellow and sporting their school mascot, the Bulldogs. "I fear for the future of cheer," Kurt quips. Blaine smiles faintly but doesn't let his gaze linger on the girls. Kurt follows his eyes to the lawn in front of them, and he tries to imagine what Blaine witnessed, here.

"Here," Blaine whispers. He clamps his lips shut tightly after that, and Kurt realizes he actually _can't_ speak any more. Kurt settles for watching Blaine because that seems to be what works the most, the best, when trying to listen, to understand. He watches Blaine's hand as it moves, watches the way Blaine's fingers splay open against his ribs, pressing hard for a moment before traveling further down. His thumb brushes over his hip, just barely, and Kurt _aches_ with the realization of what Blaine's doing, why he's brought Kurt here. He doesn't want it to be true, doesn't want it to be real, because these are pieces of Blaine he'll never have, pieces Blaine will never get back. Blaine's fingers travel back up to the path Kurt's seen them take the most, up and down and around the winding curves of the scar on his arm and the grass in front of them turns from green to brown to an ugly shade of red.

There's a loud _crack_ as one of the baseball players hits a ball with an aluminum bat (and they must be conditioning early because the season doesn't start for at least three months), and Blaine squeezes his eyes shut. "Blaine," Kurt breathes, because one of them has to speak and he doesn't dare try to touch Blaine, not now.

"Cold," Blaine gasps. "It's so cold." Kurt fumbles with his letterman's jacket for a moment before finally untangling it from his arms and draping it across Blaine's shoulders, still careful not to actually touch. The gesture seems to reach Blaine, though, who turns and opens his eyes to Kurt, trying to refocus. It takes all of Kurt's restraint not to reach out and touch like he's been allowed to up until now. Instead, he offers his hand to Blaine, gives him the option to _choose_ his way out.

Blaine doesn't hesitate, slips his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, and takes Kurt's hand.

*****

They're on Blaine's roof again and it's dark, now, past six. Kurt can feel winter starting to creep up on them, the chill in the air biting and sting and far, far too cold, but he doesn't care, up here. Not with Blaine curled into him, Kurt's jacket still snug on his shoulders, their fingers still intertwined. "How old were you?" Kurt asks after a while. "How old were you when they --"

"-- when they tried to beat the gay out of me?" Blaine finishes for him, and Kurt flinches because it's worse, now, to have it confirmed aloud. "Thirteen. _Just_ thirteen. I'd only been out a week."

_Sometimes I think you forget how lucky you are._

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says.

"Don’t be,” Blaine insists. “I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me then and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me now.”

Kurt runs his thumb across the back of Blaine’s hand before reaching over and tugging on Blaine’s bow tie a little. “Can I feel sorry for you because you’re wearing this?” Kurt quips lightly. “I mean, honestly, Christmas trees, Blaine? It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

Blaine laughs against Kurt's chest and Kurt beams at that, being able to make Blaine _laugh_ after the whirlwind the last twenty-four hours have been. "Thank you for the flowers," Blaine says quietly. "The girls in my calculus class were wild with envy."

"So I'm getting better at this boyfriend thing," Kurt guesses with a grin.

"I don't know if you were ever _bad_ to begin with," Blaine argues, but he's still laughing a little and Kurt starts to forget how cold it is outside. Blaine's laughs taper off quickly, though, and he snuggles closer against Kurt's chest. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry about last night. I promise it wasn't that I didn't want you. I -- I _do_ want you. God, I want you _so much_. It's just --" He pauses before pulling back a little, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. "You and I and this... thing, whatever it is between us -- it _terrifies_ me, Kurt." He glances out over the town, wringing his hands nervously. "It's less about what your friends think and more about what they represent. I know how this can end. It's -- it's why I took up boxing," he admits, and Kurt finally understands.

Kurt reaches over and pries Blaine's hands from each other, gently snaking his hand up and inside the sleeve of his own jacket until his fingers land on the patch of skin he knows bares Blaine's scar. "It's just a town," he says firmly, pressing his fingers into Blaine's skin. "It's not a monster."

"There are monsters in it," Blaine says quietly, and Kurt's heart shatters.

"That's why we're leaving," Kurt reminds him, and he hopes Blaine picks up on the implication there, on the _we_ and how much he wants Blaine, too, how much they both just want to escape. "And I promise you that this," he insists, dragging his fingers down Blaine's scar, "won't happen again."

Blaine smiles weakly at him. "You can't promise that."

"I can promise it for McKinley," Kurt says, and he swears that Blaine stops breathing. "Santana isn't anything I can't handle, Blaine. She's afraid of what she doesn't understand. They all are. Prejudice is just ignorance. You taught me that."

Blaine smiles at him again, much more warm and genuine this time, and he tugs his arm back so he can hold Kurt's hand properly. "I've never... had a safe place to land. But now I feel like I do."

Kurt smiles, and he's never felt this full before, brimming and threatening to burst and he is so _proud_ to be with Blaine. Blaine makes him feel like he means something. He leans forward and tugs Blaine towards him with the collar of the jacket, away from the edge of the roof. "I've had lots of practice in catching people after a fall," Kurt assures him.

Blaine falls into him and suddenly everything is much, much warmer than before. "I've had lots of practice cleaning up after getting slushied," Blaine offers. "Sounds like we both have something to bring to the table."

"No need to brag, overachiever. Put those lips to good use and kiss me already."

Blaine grins. "I can do that, too."

*****

The locker room door opens and closes with a loud _bang_ ; Kurt jumps at the sound and turns to find Dave Karofsky at the other end of the row of lockers, jaw set. Kurt nods at him before turning his attention back to his locker. "Dave."

"What're you doing, Hummel?"

Kurt glances sideways at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Anderson," Dave elaborates, and Kurt notices how quiet his voice is even though they're alone.

Kurt sighs and deposits a can of hairspray into the locker. "He's my tutor for --"

"Math, yeah, I know. I'm in his calculus class." Kurt stays quiet because he has nothing else to say, nothing he particularly wants to share with Dave (and by extension, Finn, the football team and the rest of the school). "I'm not stupid, Hummel," Dave says, and Kurt looks over at him again, surprised. "I saw the flowers."

Kurt's jaw twitches. He hesitates for a moment, weighing his options, before raising his chin a little, training his eyes back on his locker. "I really don't see how this is any of your business."

"Why are you doing this?" Dave implores.

Kurt slams his locker shut with a huff. "Why does it _matter_? Why does the school care if I'm dating someone? Why does anyone care if it's not someone from our social circle? This is getting ridiculous --"

"It matters because you're fucking _gay_ , okay?"

Kurt arches his eyebrows coldly. "That hasn't seemed to be a problem until now."

"Because you're one of us," Dave explains, pacing the floor. "You're one of us and it's just been this -- this thing that didn't really mean anything, you know? It was something we didn't have to think about because --"

"Because I wasn't acting on it?" Dave's mouth twitches and Kurt strides forward. "I've got news for you. I don't really _care_ what you guys think any more."

"Yeah, well, you should," Dave snaps. "You see this?" he says, reaching forward and pinching the sleeve of Kurt's uniform between his fingers. "This protects us all. You start doing shit like this, you start screwing with the system and you lose that."

"First Santana, now you." Kurt tugs his arm away. "I haven't lost it yet. Care to explain that bit to me?"

"Your squad's pretty protective of you. And your brother. And none of them were enough to keep Z from throwing that slushie in your face --"

"I'm surprised it wasn't you," Kurt says coldly. "I don't get why everyone cares so much, why _you_ care so much. Everyone keeps talking about the consequences but they seem to be ones that only affect me. I'm the one who might lose my position on the squad. I'm the one who might get slushied again. I'm the one who might get picked on or beaten up -- by _your_ friends -- and I'm the one who's gay. And you, Dave, are none of those things. You're not me. So this doesn't matter to you."

Dave bangs his fist against the nearest locker in frustration, a metallic clang echoing in the empty locker room, and Kurt clutches the strap of his gym bag a little more tightly. "God, you're so fucking _selfish_ , you know that?"

"I have every right to be!" Kurt defends. "This doesn't affect any of you. Why should it?"

"Because it sends a message! It tells people that it's okay to --"

"To what, be gay? Date whoever they want? Be happy?"

Dave stops pacing and blinks at him, gaping. "No," he says, and his voice is quiet again. "No one out there is ever gonna think it's okay." He stops and breathes loudly, in and out until it's even, and Kurt's head starts to hurt from trying to figure this out. "People see you going against the rules --" Kurt rolls his eyes. "People see you doing whatever you want," Dave continues, "and the whole order is disrupted. No one has power or -- or influence any more. And that means that this," he sighs, reaching forward to touch Kurt's uniform again before pulling back and touching his own, "is useless."

Kurt softens a little but shakes his head. "They'll turn on me before they let that happen, you know they will. Why is everyone so worried? Why are you so worried?"

Dave's shoulders sag at Kurt's words; he shakes his head and dismisses Kurt's questions with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. "You just... you don't get it."

Kurt shakes his head at Dave's back. "No, I don't," he admits. He runs through the list of consequences in his mind again, tries to apply each one to someone else ( _position lost, slushies, bullying_ ); nothing clicks until -- "Oh my god." Dave hesitates just around the corner, still presenting his back to Kurt, and Kurt feels nauseous. " _Oh my god_." Dave turns around, slowly, and Kurt sinks down on the long stretch of bench between the two lockers, gym bag hitting the floor quietly. "Oh my _god_." Dave's eyes wrinkle at the corners, just a little, and Kurt knows he has to say it out loud. "You're _gay_?"

Panic sets in on Dave's face immediately as he glances over his shoulder briefly before crossing the room to stand closer. "Keep your voice down!" he hisses. Kurt closes his eyes and shakes his head; his skin is positively vibrating and he can't get it to stop. He tries to breathe, tries to just calm himself but he can't. "Dude, you're shaking."

"You're gay!" Kurt snaps defensively, opening his eyes. Dave glances over his shoulder again but Kurt ignores Dave's paranoia, gathering himself. "Why haven't you come out yet?"

Dave blinks down at him, mouth agape. "You've lost your mind," he says, half-laughing. "Either you've lost your mind or Anderson said something because you know what it's like here."

Kurt exhales, finally managing to calm down a little. "Yeah, I do," he breathes. "And I'm gonna use your words against you." Dave's eyes narrow in confusion and Kurt leans forward, tugging on the sleeve of Dave's letterman's jacket. "This protects you."

But Dave shakes his head and there's something in his eyes that Kurt can't place -- ache, maybe -- as he leans against the lockers. "No, it doesn't. Football's different than cheer."

Kurt considers him. "So you agree with me, then? If you were in my shoes, they'd turn against you before they'd let the 'natural order' fall apart."

It's definitely ache, Kurt decides, as Dave shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "I don't have anyone to protect me," he says flatly. "No one's looking out for me, Kurt, not like they are with you."

"I will." Kurt's not even sure where the words come from but he can't take them back and he kind of doesn't want to. "Can you imagine the difference it would make if you were out?" He pushes himself up off of the bench and reaches out for Dave's arm. "We could _change_ things, Dave, god --"

Dave shakes his head again and Kurt swears he can see Dave's eyes misting. "I can't," Dave whispers, drawing his arm away from Kurt's touch. "Kurt, I _can't_. I can't come out --"

The locker room door clicks shut and they both glance to the edge of the row where Blaine is now standing, eyes wide behind his glasses, jaw hanging open. Kurt relaxes a little at the sight of him and turns back to Dave to plead his case again because of this, because of Blaine and what it would mean for him. Dave pushes himself off of the lockers, though, before Kurt gets a chance to speak. He takes two steps towards Blaine and Kurt's eyes fall to Dave's hand where his fingers are twitching; Blaine makes a grab for his arm, fingers tracing his scar as if he's bracing himself for it and Kurt goes _cold_. His fingers enclose around Dave's elbow, tight and firm, and Dave halts, glancing back at Kurt over his shoulder. "Stop."

Dave's arm shakes in Kurt's grasp. "He's gonna tell," he murmurs.

And that's stupid, Kurt knows; he gets why Dave's afraid but Blaine _wouldn't_ , and Kurt has had enough, now. "Stay in the closet, for all I care," Kurt snaps, releasing his hold on Dave's arm and moving forward until his nose is almost brushing Dave's lips. "But do. Not. Touch him." Kurt waits until Dave nods, careful to keep his skin from touching Kurt's; Kurt spins on his heel and reaches for Blaine's hand, tugging him out into the empty hallway.

"Hallway --" Blaine starts, but he stops when he realizes they're alone and doesn't pull his hand from Kurt's. "He's gay," Blaine gasps as Kurt marches towards the parking lot. "Oh my god, he's gay and you wanted -- you tried to get him to --"

Kurt sighs and stops, turning on the spot and pulling Blaine in for a kiss. Blaine whimpers against his mouth, fingers shaking in Kurt's, but he starts to calm as Kurt breaks the kiss and breathes against his face. "I promised. I promised you'd be safe and that I'd try to make things better and I'm trying, Blaine, I swear --"

Blaine cuts him off with a kiss, now, hand gripping Kurt's tightly as he pushes forward; Kurt's back collides against the row of lockers as Blaine presses into him. "They're all worried you're going to end up breaking my heart," he mumbles against Kurt's lips. "Rachel and Tina and Artie, they -- they don't _know_ you like I do."

And Kurt laughs at that, laughs because this is all so backwards. No one wants them to be together, no one in Ohio or Lima or McKinley, no one on the squad or in show choir, in Blaine's little group of misfits. The only two people in their corner are Kurt's dad and Quinn -- _Lucy_ Fabray; Dave Karofsky is in the fucking closet and Blaine wasn't supposed to fall in love with Kurt and everything is just so twisted --

"Forget them," Kurt dismisses, pulling Blaine closer. "Forget them all."

*****

 _Smack_.

Every jab Blaine takes at the bag is forceful and aggressive, barely containing his weight and his rage. Kurt's never seen him quite like this before, dressed down and practically animalistic, clothes hanging off of his body loosely the more he sweats (and god, he's so _fit_ ). His hair's the most curly Kurt's ever seen it, damp with sweat and unraveling into ringlets and waves around his ears and across his forehead. Kurt feels almost obligated to be a little turned on right now -- the sight is so rare and appealing -- but he's not.

It's been a bad day. Blaine had started the day off sour; they'd skipped lunch sixth period and were late for seventh in favor of the locker room, Blaine shivering as Kurt picked out clumps of ice and slush from Blaine's hair. Blaine had scrubbed vigorously to erase the red and blue and green dye that stained his skin (a triple, today, particularly harsh).

Blaine hits the punching bag with renewed vigor, fists assaulting in rapid fire -- _onetwothreefour_ \-- until his body can't keep up anymore; he swings and misses, stumbling forward and sinking to his knees.

Kurt chooses then to make his move, rising from the bench and crossing the gym quietly before sinking down on his knees next to Blaine. It's obvious that Blaine has just _given up_ , shoulders sagged with weight underneath his hoodie, eyes downcast.

Kurt unearths a handkerchief from the pocket of his uniform and reaches out a hand to gently pry Blaine's glasses from his face. He wipes the lenses gently so he doesn't scratch them but it's the frames that need the most cleaning, slick with the oil and sweat from Blaine's skin. Blaine wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie (Kurt lets it go for now; he'll explain the importance of proper skincare later). He doesn't open his eyes until Kurt's settled the glasses back on his face, and this time it's him who leans in to kiss Kurt, mouth tight around the corners at first but relaxing after a moment. He pulls away and sinks back on his heels with a sigh. "I got into an argument with my dad this morning," he explains. "And no, I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay," Kurt says, mirroring Blaine's position.

Blaine rocks back and forth for a minute, up and down on his knees, before he finally sighs and unfolds, resting his back against the wall and stripping his gloves off. "It wasn't just me, you know. It wasn't just me who got slushied today. They got Artie too."

Kurt shivers involuntarily. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've helped --"

"It was this morning," Blaine explains. "And we just _knew_ \-- we could see it on their faces, you know? They were gunning for each of us. I was escorting the girls to their classes -- that's why you didn't see me all morning." Kurt swells with pride at that, at Blaine sacrificing himself to protect others, and he wonders if that was true a few years ago, when the bullying was worse and so much more violent. Did Blaine protect the boy he'd been with, then? Kurt straightens a little because he wants that, he wants to be able to protect Blaine even though Blaine can take care of himself- that much is obvious after watching him tear into the punching bag. Kurt wants to be better, and his dad's words echo in his head: _You taught him what it means to really be a man._ Blaine shifts uncomfortably against the wall, bending a knee. "I think that pissed them off. Hence --"

"Hence the triple treatment," Kurt sighs, closing the distance between them and resting his elbow on the bench next to Blaine. "I wish I could help. I wish I could just get them to _stop_ \--"

Blaine shakes his head. "You're treading a thin line, anyway. They've already done it to you once, Kurt."

Once, and Blaine has endured so much more, teasing and slushies and locker shoves, the blunt force and ache of being _beaten_ , and Kurt remembers how young he was, then, how young he still is now. _Thirteen. Just thirteen._ Young and not even in high school, broken and bleeding and _alone_ on the front yard of the middle school --

Kurt glances at Blaine, notes the way Blaine can't seem to get comfortable. But that's always true, Kurt knows. Blaine's never going to be comfortable here, in McKinley, in Lima, in Ohio. He's always going to be an outcast, hated and looked down upon by people Kurt once considered his _friends_ ; they're the ones that make it so much harder to be with Blaine, the football team and and the Cheerios. The power is all their own, and no matter what kind of influence or control Kurt thinks he has, he's never going to be able to implement change on his own. He's going to have to spend the next year and a half cleaning Blaine up and massaging the ache out of his shoulders, and then what? Then Kurt leaves, and Blaine has to stay behind for another year. And Kurt doesn't know even know how to _begin_ to remedy that situation, to assure Blaine that just because he's leaving McKinley doesn't mean he's leaving Blaine.

_She left when I needed her the most._

"Tell me about Quinn Fabray."

Blaine looks over at him sharply and Kurt can see that flash of anger in his eyes again. "What did she tell you?"

"That you went to the same middle school," Kurt repeats. "And that you deserved somebody who would be nice to you."

Blaine laughs disbelievingly but Kurt can see his muscles relax. "Ironic, coming from her. We were --" He pauses, sighs, and leans his head against the wall, slouching a little. "We _were_ friends," he admits. "Best friends. We both knew what it felt like to be --" He doesn't have to finish the sentence for Kurt to know what he means: _to be an outcast_.

Kurt curls a little closer to the bench but he can't get comfortable either. The bench is a poor substitute for Blaine. "So what happened?"

Blaine's head lolls sideways a little, eyes cast to the floor and glasses starting to go a little lop-sided; he looks so _sad_ and it makes Kurt ache in places he didn't know were possible, which is saying something given his time on the Cheerios. He can feel it in the strangest of places, in the valves of his heart and bottom of his throat and tips of his fingertips. He feels strangely empty, watching Blaine like this. "People change," Blaine says faintly, echoing Quinn's words.

Kurt shakes his head. "I don't get it. Was it just the looks thing? I mean, that's a pretty drastic change, but --"

"No," Blaine laughs bitterly, "though that should've tipped me off. She started that before she got here, you know? She worked her ass off to lose weight and didn't have to wear her braces anymore. It took her ages to lighten her hair. She worked on that all year, too. That wasn't the problem."

"So what was?" Kurt pries, knowing that now that he's got Blaine talking, it might be easier to get the answers he's looking for, answers Quinn would never give him.

"There was a dance," Blaine explains, and Kurt's heart seizes for a minute, eyes falling to Blaine's arm, his hip and his ribs- "Not _my_ dance," he clarifies, and Kurt relaxes a little. "Her eighth grade graduation dance. She was hoping -- she _desperately_ wanted the boys to start noticing her, so one of them would ask her to go."

"And no one did?" Kurt guesses.

Blaine shakes his head. "And I just -- I wanted to make her feel better, you know? I hated seeing her like that. So I invited her over for a sleepover that night so we could have a dance of our own. And it worked, I swear it worked. She smiled the whole night, let me twirl her around and substitute her name in the lyrics of _Susie Q_."

Kurt takes a second to process that -- namely that Blaine means 'Lucy' replacing 'Susie' and not 'Quinn' -- and then smiles slowly. This is just Blaine, he realizes. Blaine _is_ a people pleaser, and Kurt finally recognizes it and means it in a way that isn't negative. Blaine likes to take care of people, regardless of what he gets out of it, and _that's_ why Kurt cares so much.

"I came out to her that night," Blaine says quietly, and Kurt sits up a little, refocusing. "She was the first person I told and I thought -- I really thought it'd be okay, you know? She was supposed to be there for me. It was supposed to be okay. And I had all these plans -- I wanted to tell my parents over the summer, wanted to be out at school in the fall. I didn't want to have to hide anymore. And she didn't say _anything_." And _this_ is where Blaine might break, Kurt realizes. Kurt waits, teeters on the edge of leaning forward to finally, finally touch Blaine, waits for the other shoe to drop. "My mom made us breakfast in the morning," Blaine says flatly, "drove her home and everything. I walked her to her door and she told me she couldn't be my friend anymore." Blaine finally looks up at him and doesn't even bother straightening his glasses; the look in his eyes is _worse_ now, the same emptiness Kurt had felt just watching him earlier, aching and lonely and _abandoned_. Tears start to spring into Blaine's eyes and his voice is breaking when he speaks again. "And then she shut the door in my face."

Kurt's arms are around him the instant Blaine starts to cry (and Kurt's not even sure what to do with this, the fact that he's peeled back enough of Blaine's layers for this to happen). Quinn left. She left and came to McKinley and Blaine didn't have anyone when he'd been bashed later that fall. And Kurt gets it, understands _why_ she did it, and hates that before Blaine, he might've done the same, might've left Blaine out to dry for the security and popularity that comes with being on the Cheerios. Kurt understands so much more, now. He finally gets why Blaine had expressed such disdain for the Cheerios when they'd first met, the prejudices he'd held against Kurt, against all of them. And more than anything, he understands why _this_ , why being with Kurt terrifies him so much. Kurt realizes, now, that Blaine _trusts_ him despite all of this. And that, above all, is what Kurt needs to value: he needs to handle Blaine with care because Blaine doesn't do this, not with anyone, his parents or Quinn or the kids in his glee club (Artie and the obnoxiously talented Rachel Berry and the timid Asian girl with a stutter).

Blaine quiets after a while, face still a little damp (and Kurt's uniform shirt is soaked but he so does not even care right now) and fists clinging to Kurt like he'll drown if he doesn't ( _his arms thrown around Quinn's -- Lucy's neck, clinging to her like she's his lifeline_ ). When Blaine stops shaking, Kurt feels like it's safe to pull away a little but keeps his arms wrapped around Blaine as he looks down at him. And there it is again, the same ache and loneliness in Blaine's eyes, but there's something else there, now, much more familiar to Kurt; it's the way Blaine's been looking at him a lot lately, the way Blaine's been looking at him for a while, warm and glinting and terrified any time they get a little too close. But Blaine's already taken that leap, plunged headfirst into this thing -- this _relationship_ with Kurt, because Blaine loves him.

"Hey," Kurt says warmly, moving one of his arms so he can hook his fingers under Blaine's chin and look at him better. Kurt smiles and it's contagious, spreading to Blaine's face slowly, albeit a little reluctantly. "I love you."

*****

Kurt's exhausted by the end of Cheerios practice. He thinks Coach must seriously be regretting her decision to make Santana and Quinn co-captains, because the battle they've both been waging all year for their teammates' loyalty is about to come to a head and there might not be anything she can do to stop it. Quinn had seemed particularly annoyed today, disagreeing with every critique or suggestion Santana had made and snapping at the freshmen. It's a Quinn he hasn't seen since the beginning of sophomore year, since before. For the first time in a while, Kurt's glad he's not studying with Blaine today because he doesn't think he can handle the added pressure (or the temptation to forget studying altogether and just kiss Blaine instead). Santana shoots him daggers as she leaves with Brittany, but it's Quinn who marches up to him at the end of practice, reminiscent of her initial confrontation about Blaine. "You busy?" she asks in a huff, hands on her hips.

Kurt sighs. "I was going to go home," he admits hesitantly. "Do a bit of homework and just try to relax."

Quinn shifts her weight again, and Kurt braces himself for whatever bombshell she's about to drop, whatever favor she's about to ask of him. "Wanna go for a drive?"

Kurt considers her for a moment, remembering Blaine's confession about the dissolution of their friendship, and Kurt wants to say no, on Blaine's behalf, but her face softens and the look in her eyes reminds Kurt of her reaching for his hand when she was wheeled into delivery. "Sure."

She doesn't offer any explanation, no clues or hints as to where they're going as she drives. Past his dad's garage and down several streets, up a hill and and turning past a set of gates next to a sign that reads _Belleville Middle School_. She puts the car in park but doesn't get out of the car, just stares at the lawn and the fields instead. "Blaine told me, you know," Kurt announces without preamble. "He told me what happened between you. And I get it. I get why you ditched him."

Quinn exhales shakily and looks down at her lap, hands folded. "You're a better person than I am," she says quietly. "You didn't do what I did."

Kurt's jaw twitches. "No," he agrees. "I didn't."

"He put me in an impossible position," she breathes. "He wanted me to defend him if the bullying got worse. He -- he would've --"

"He would've dragged you down with him," Kurt finishes for her. "Yeah, I told you, I get it."

She looks up and over at him, pleading. "I don't know how you're doing it. I don't know how you can still show up to practice, how you don't flinch every time you see someone with a slushie in their hand. I don't know how you can still date him and not expect them to turn their backs on you."

Kurt blinks, a little surprised, but sighs and settles down into the seat, looking out the front window of the car at the lawn Blaine had taken him to. "So it's not just in the rumor mill anymore. People know."

He sees Quinn nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, they do. I think the guys on the football team thought they could scare you out of spending time with him if they slushied you, but --"

"-- obviously that didn't work," Kurt says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "They were too late at that point. So Santana knows? Mercedes?"

"Everyone," Quinn confirms. "Santana's pretty pissed. I don't think anyone's been able to figure out what to do about it yet."

Kurt glances sideways at her. "If they're looking for someone to lead the lynch mob, you could always offer your services."

Quinn's shoulders fall and she looks _hurt_ , but all she says is, "I guess I deserve that."

Kurt's mouth twists a little as he considers her. "Yeah, you probably do, but it doesn't make me feel like any less of an asshole."

She laughs a little at him and twists in her seat to face him better. "You're so _brave_ , Kurt. I've known that since freshman year. You came out to the squad and convinced Coach to keep Mercedes even after she couldn't slim down, you took me in, you -- _Blaine_..."

"You were right. He deserves someone who will be nice to him."

Quinn's mouth twists into a smile. "He's _letting you_. He wouldn't have to do that if it weren't for me, if I hadn't..."

"You hurt him, Quinn," he says firmly. "Badly."

She closes her eyes and nods, resting her head against the back of her seat. "You don't know how much I wish I could take it back," she breathes. "Last year, after -- after I got pregnant and kicked off of the Cheerios and lost my boyfriend, after my parents kicked me out and you -- you and your dad took me in, once I hit rock bottom, all I could think about was him. And I just -- I didn't want to keep her, you know? The baby. I couldn't do to her what I'd done to him. I couldn't screw anyone else up." She inhales, loud and shaky, and for the first time since Beth was born, Kurt sees Quinn cry. "What kind of person does that? What kind of person just abandons a twelve-year-old kid like that? What kind of person pretends that they don't know he's being picked on, that he --”

Kurt looks back out at the lawn again. "It happened here, you know."

Quinn nods again, refusing to look out at the school any more than she has to. "Everyone knew. Everyone read about it in the paper and heard about it on the news and I just _left him_. I --" She chokes out a sob and curls her arms around herself, rocking in her seat. "I'm a monster."

_There are monsters in it._

"Hey, no," Kurt says firmly, reaching out and tugging her hand into his. "You're not. I know you, remember? I got a pretty good idea of the kind of person you are when you lived with me last year. You're a bathroom hog, for one --" Quinn laughs at him through her tears, fumbling for a napkin in one of the cup holders. "But you're a good person," Kurt insists. "You wanted the best for your daughter, and you couldn't give that to her. So you made sure someone else could. And this whole time, while everyone else has told me to do what you did, to leave Blaine, you didn't."

Quinn smiles faintly at him but shakes her head, fingers twitching in Kurt's grasp. "He thinks I'm a monster," she says softly. "But I -- I'm not -- I'm still the same person I was then," she insists, and Kurt detects an edge of bitterness in her voice. "I'm still just this sad, miserable little girl who wants somebody to love her."

Kurt squeezes her hand tightly. "And he did, Quinn. He loved you. That's why you were friends -- you both knew what that felt like. You both knew what it was like to just want to be accepted for who you are, to want someone to love you."

She smiles at him again, warm and bright this time. "And you do." Kurt shifts uncomfortably in his chair but she grins at him, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I heard you, yesterday," she admits. "I was passing the gym and heard you tell him you loved him."

Kurt flushes but smiles, and now it's his turn to look down at his lap. "He makes me want to be better, Quinn. He makes me want to make all of this," he says, gesturing around at the school, "better. And it just _kills me_ , Quinn, because I can't. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, in the end I'm probably going to end up just like him, and then I have to leave him alone here for an entire year to deal with this on his own and it's just --" He sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, sticking this out. I wonder if I'm doing more harm than good."

"I don't think so," Quinn muses. "You said he was difficult to get along with when he first started tutoring you. And I know it got to you -- Santana and Mercedes and the squad and the team and the way people were starting to talk. But Blaine didn't give up on you then. Don't -- don't give up on him now. Don't do what I did."

Kurt reaches across the center console to hug her, exhaling into her hair. "I don't want to. I want -- god, Quinn, I love him so much it _hurts_ sometimes."

She squeezes him a little tighter and turns her head so her lips are pressed against his ear. "Courage," she whispers.

*****

Kurt glances up at the bleachers at the spot Blaine's sitting and watching; Blaine offers him a small wave, and Kurt smiles.

The squad lines up to practice round-offs- Kurt sticks his landing but the two Cheerios behind him aren't as lucky: the second one actually stumbles and almost lands face first against the ground, but Kurt catches her by the elbow just in time for her knees to hit the grass. He can hear Coach Sue's sigh even without the megaphone. "Okay, _I_ need to take five because I can't stand to watch this travesty anymore. This isn't gymnastics, people. You're not vying for a spot on U.S. Olympic team. Get it together."

Kurt jogs to the side of the field and unearths his water bottle from his bag, grinning up at Blaine as he takes a drink. He almost chokes on the water as Santana brushes by him, knocking his elbow and shoulder. "Blanderson," she calls. "This is a private practice."

Kurt sighs and starts to follow her, but Blaine speaks before he can do anything. "It's a free country."

The squad grows quiet, the only sounds on the field coming from Coach Beiste's whistle and the clatter of football helmets colliding on the other side of the field. Kurt watches as Santana raises her eyebrows, obviously surprised, and Kurt fights back a smile because _Blaine is sticking up for himself._ Slowly, Santana saunters up the small flight of stairs to the lower level of the bleachers until they're standing face to face, and the smirk she gives him makes Kurt tense and nervous. She opens her mouth to speak again but there's another new voice and Kurt has to turn his head sharply to see who it belongs to, who's followed Santana onto the bleachers. "Back off, Santana."

Santana whips around and narrows her eyes at Quinn, who's clutching the railing tightly but standing her ground. "I know you think you have some sort of power here, Fabray, but out of the two of us, I'm pretty sure this squad listens to me. Co-captain or not, I'm the leader."

“You want to be a _leader_ ,” Quinn says shrilly, voice starting off high and going down by the end, “then start _acting like one_.”

Kurt can see the rage building in Santana; she moves to take a step forward and launch herself against Quinn and Kurt reacts instinctively, dropping his bottle back into his bag and rushing forward onto the landing, readying himself to break up the fight. Blaine moves instead, brushing by both of the girls on his way to descend the steps of the bleachers. Quinn spins around as he passes her and reaches out, grabbing his elbow and holding him there firmly. "You don't have to leave --" she says adamantly.

"Don't," Blaine snaps, tugging his arm free and glaring up at her. "I'd rather leave than have you stick up for me." Quinn recoils and Kurt can see the hurt in her eyes, can see how stung she is. Blaine moves past Kurt, letting their knuckles brush briefly and their fingers intertwine loosely before he disappears down the tunnel and back into the locker rooms. Kurt closes his eyes and exhales slowly, trying to gather himself. When he turns back to the girls, Santana's smile is triumphant.

"Come on, come on, back to work," Coach snaps through the megaphone. "I'm not training you to be the next panel on _The View_ , move it!"

Santana waltzes past them both, bumping into Quinn's shoulder roughly and casting a satisfied glance at Kurt as she climbs down the stairs and rejoins the rest of the squad on the field. She doesn't get very far, though, when Kurt speaks, voice quiet but firm. "I quit."

Santana spins around to look at him, eyebrows arched. It's obvious that Coach didn't hear him but Kurt doesn't care because he's got Santana's attention now. "You what?" she grits out.

Kurt turns to face her, making sure he's loud enough for Coach Sue to hear him this time. "I quit."

"Porcelain, what the hell are you doing?" Coach Sylvester demands. "What do you mean 'I quit'?"

"I mean _I quit_ ," Kurt bites out. "I mean I'm off the squad. I mean I'm done."

Santana takes a few steps closer to him, hands on her hips. "You don't mean that," she says quietly. "You've worked your ass off for this. You'd miss it too much. You want this too much."

Kurt shakes his head. "I know what I want," he says evenly. "This isn't it." She blinks up at him and Kurt can practically hear the cogs in her head whirring, calculating, trying to figure out her next move. He ignores Coach Sylvester's voice.

There's a warm hand in his and Kurt looks over at Quinn; she breathes in, shaky and uneven, and says, resolutely, "I quit too."

There's more panic now, amongst the squad, more murmurs and whispers and Coach is louder than ever but Kurt only has eyes for Santana. Mercedes steps forward a little and nods at him. "Me three." Kurt beams at her, ignoring Coach Sue as she actually _throws_ her megaphone across the sidelines, knocking over the water cooler. Mercedes mouths _I was wrong, I'm sorry_ at him, and he nods. They can talk later. Kurt refocuses his gaze on Santana and tries to communicate without words.

He thinks she understands, now, just how fragile the balance of this system is, how easily the foundation can crumble, how far someone can fall. He can feel the nervous energy of the girls around them, even some of the boys as they watch and shift uncomfortably, unsure which side to take. And the fact that it's even a question, the fact that they might not take her side, Kurt knows that's getting to her. In the end, she might still lose the power she's desperately clinging to. She loses some of the color in her face, and Kurt chooses then to let go of Quinn's hand and climb down the stairs.

He leans in close, lips right up against Santana's ear and chest pressed flush against hers, and his voice is low, dangerously low when he speaks. "Let it go, Santana," he urges. "Can't you see how this doesn't work? Can't you see how much it can hurt you?" He can hear her swallow thickly and it gives him the courage to keep going. "What do you think's going to happen, Santana," he says quietly, "if none of them back you up, if we all abandon the squad? Coach will blame you, and you know what she's like. She doesn't care who she has to destroy to get what she wants, to get revenge. You learned that from her." Santana shivers, honest-to-god _shivers_ , and Kurt knows he's getting through to her. "She won't hesitate to leave you _out_ to dry." Santana snaps back, staring up at him with wide eyes, and Kurt knows the battle is won. "She's not as forgiving as we are, Santana."

She lifts her chin a little, one last act of defiance. "Are you _threatening me_?"

Kurt shakes his head, and his voice is sincere when he answers. "No," he says sadly. "I'm trying to protect you." Santana bites her lip, hesitating for the space of a second as she glances over at Brittany, but eventually she nods, eyes downcast, and Kurt moves past her to pick up the megaphone from the ground, pressing it to Coach Sylvester's chest with a little more force than necessary. "Come on," he calls to the squad. "Let's get back to work."

The war is over.

*****

Mrs. Anderson lets him into the house on her way out. Kurt doesn't need the wave she gives him up the stairs; he knows where Blaine is. Up the stairs, across the bedroom and Kurt clambers up onto the rooftop, sinking to his knees behind Blaine and wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulder. "It's getting too cold for this," Kurt murmurs against his neck. "It'll start snowing soon."

"I know." Blaine's quiet but his actions always speak more than his words; he falls back against Kurt a little, craning his neck to the side as Kurt's lips fall to his neck. "How was the rest of your _private_ practice?"

Kurt closes his eyes and sighs, eyelashes brushing over the skin just behind Blaine's ear. "I took care of Santana."

Blaine snorts a little. "Really?" he drawls skeptically. "How'd you do that?"

Kurt tenses a little, fingers flexing at Blaine's waist. "I threatened to quit."

Silence again and Kurt knows Blaine's working it out in his head, what that would accomplish, _how_ it would accomplish anything. "Were you the only one?" he asks hesitantly, and Kurt smiles against his neck because Blaine's smart, so smart, and Kurt knows he's not going to have to explain a lot. He shakes his head against Blaine's neck. "Who else?"

"Mercedes," Kurt answers airily. "And Quinn." Blaine tenses under his touch, as expected, but Kurt moves past it, keeps talking. "The rest of the squad looked like they were on the fence."

"Loss of power," Blaine murmurs. "Is that all she wants? Or is she more concerned about the fallout?"

"The latter, I think. Coach Sylvester is a rather... vindictive soul." Blaine makes a questioning noise, and Kurt wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. "We all have secrets," he whispers against Blaine's skin. "Everyone thinks we can't be taken down but the truth is, we're just good at keeping each other's secrets. It's how we protect each other."

"And Santana needs to be protected from Coach Sue?"

"We all need to be protected from Coach Sue," Kurt quips dryly, and Blaine actually laughs at him.

There's a pause, and then, "Did she really threaten to quit?"

Kurt nods against his shoulder. "I think she's coming around, Quinn. I think she wants to make it up to you. To me."

Blaine shifts uncomfortably, rolling his shoulder backwards and Kurt untangles himself from around Blaine, kneading the muscles in Blaine's shoulder. "It's not that simple."

"No, it's not," Kurt agrees. "Nothing ever is. But she's not so different, Blaine, than what you remember. She's still the same person, I think."

"The same person who makes the same mistakes," Blaine points out, but Kurt can feel Blaine’s muscles begin to relax, and knows he's getting through to him.

"People change, remember? I got a glimpse of who she really is, Blaine, the girl you used to know, when she lived with me last year. She hasn't changed for the worse as much as you think. You know why she gave the baby up for adoption?" Blaine shakes his head, is quiet and still, and Kurt presses his lips to Blaine's ear again. "Because of you," he murmurs. "She didn't want to hurt someone again. She wanted to give her daughter a chance."

Blaine inhales sharply in front of him and shifts out of Kurt's hands, turning around to face him. "A girl?" he whispers.

Kurt nods, smiling. "Beth. I was there when she was born." Blaine's eyes start to water a little and there's that look again -- _lonely, aching, abandoned, loved_. "Hey," Kurt says gently, resting a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "I'm not going to push. I think you might be able to fix things. She's willing, but you have to be too. Second chances, right?" Blaine nods, contemplative, and Kurt doesn't push further. "I have a surprise for you," he says, digging into the pocket of his letterman's jacket and handing Blaine a folded-up piece of paper.

"What's this?" Blaine laughs, taking it from him and unfolding it. He glances over it briefly and breaks out into a grin, eyes glittering when he looks back up at Kurt. "You aced your math final."

Kurt nods. "And I thought maybe we could go out to celebrate. Breadstix, and the revival theater downtown is doing a production of _West Side Story_."

Blaine colors a little, flustered, but the smile doesn't leave his face. "Like a date?"

"Like a date," Kurt affirms with a laugh. "A proper one. I'll drive you home and walk you to your door and everything."

"Kiss me goodnight?" Blaine teases, grinning at him. Kurt hums happily in response, and the smile on Blaine's face lingers for a brief moment before faltering. "You know we can't -- out in public, we can't do what everyone else does. We can't be normal."

Kurt nods. "It's why I intend on getting my fill now," he announce with a grin, pushing Blaine down onto his back by the shoulder and hovering over him. "You wanna know why I like kissing you up here?"

Blaine's eyes glitter as his back arches, rising slightly and letting his lips ghost over Kurt's, waiting. "Hmm?"

"Because we're safe," Kurt breathes, and Blaine starts to tremble beneath him. "No one can see us up here. No one can --" He stops and leans down to meet Blaine's lips, dragging his lips across Blaine's cheek and lingering next to his ear. "Up here, no one can touch us, or what we have."


End file.
